a 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


tic  W>c 


[^ 


RORY  O'MORE 


By  SAMUEL  LOVER 

Author  of   "Handy  Andy."  etc, 


>     »    *»      *   »   » 


"Then  come  there  with  me; 
'Tis  the  land  I  love  best, 
'Tis  the  land  of  my  sires! 
'Tis  my  own  darling  West!" 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK 


PK 

I'HOO 

?0 

(n 

RORY  OMORE 

^ 

^ 

CHAPTER    I. 

ci\j 


In  a  retired  district  of  the  south  of  Ireland,  near  some 
wild  hills,  and  a  romantic  river,  a   small  by-road  led  to  a 
quiet  spot,  where,  at  the  end  of  a  little  lane,  or  boreen,  which 
^  Was  sheltered  by  some  hazel  hedges,  stood  a  cottage  which 
.;^  in  England  would  have  been  considered  a  poor  habitation, 
but  in  Ireland  it  was  absolutely    comfortable,  when  con- 
trasted with  the  wretched  hovels  that  most  of  her  peasantJfy 
are  doomed  to  dwell  in.     The  walls  were  only  built  of  mud 
— but  then  the  doorway  and   such  windows  as  the    cabin 
had  were  formed  of  cut  stone,  as  was  the  chimney,  which 
last  convenience  is  of  rare    occurrence  in  Irish  cabinsi,  a 
2J:     hole  in  the  roof  generally  serving  instead.     The  window^s 
-4  «^were  not  glazed,  it  is  true,  but   we  must  not  expect   too 
g  ^'much  gentility  on  this  point,  and  though  the  light  may  not 
^      be  let  in  as  much  as  it  is  the  intention  of  such  openings  to 
do,  yet  if  the  wind  be  kept  out,  the  Irish  peasant  may  b^ 
thankful.     A  piece  of  board — or,  as    Pat    says,  a  woodexi 
pane  of  glass — may  occupy  one  square,  while  its  neighbor 
may  be  brown  paper,  ornamented  inside,  perhaps,  with  a 
ballad  setting  forth  how 

' '  A  sailor  coorted  a  farmer's  daughter 
That  lived  convaynient  to  the  Isle  of  Man," 

or,  may  be,  with  a  print  of  St.  Patrick. 

But  though  the  windows  were  not  glazed,  and  there  was 
not  a  boarded  floor  in  the  house,  yet  it  was  a  snug  cottage. 
Its  earthen  floors  were  clean  and  dry,  its  thatched  roof  was 
sound  ;  the  dresser  in  the  principal  room  was  well  furnished 
with  delf  ;  there  were  two  or  three  chairs  and  a  good  many 
three  legged  stools  ;  a  spinning-wheel — that  sure  sign  of 
peace  and  good  conduct  ;  more  than  one  iron  pot  ;  more 
than  one  bed,  and  one  of  those  four-posted,  with  printed 
calico  curtains  of  a  most  resplendent  pattern;  there  was  a 


i> 


4  ROXY   O'MORE. 

looking-glass,  too,  in  the  best  bedroom,  with  only  Dnecor 
tier  broken  off  and  only  three  cracks  in  the  middle,  and, 
that  further  damage  might  not  be  done  to  this  most  valu- 
able piece  of  furniture — most  valuable,  I  say,  for  there  was 
a  pretty  girl  in  the  house  who  wanted  it  every  Sunday 
morning  to  see  that  her  bonnet  was  put  on  becomino-lv 
before  she  went  to  chapel — that  no  further  damage  mis^ht 
be  done,  I  say,  this  inimitable  looking-glass  was  imbedded 
in  the  wall  ;  with  a  framework  of  mortar  round  it,  taste- 
fully ornamented  with  cross-bars  done  by  the  adventurous 
hand  of  Rory  O'More  himself,  who  had  a  genius  for  hand- 
ling a  trowel.  This  came  to  him  by  inheritance,  for  his 
father  had  been  a  mason,  which  accounts  for  the  cut-stone 
aoorway,  windows,  and  chimney  of  the  cottage  that  Rory's 
i'uther  had  built  for  liimself. 

But  when  I  say  Rory  had  a  genius  for  handling  a  trowel, 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  he  followed  the  trade  of  his  father 
— he  did  not — it  was  a  gift  of  nature  which  Rory  left  quite 
unincumbered  by  any  trammels  of  art ;  for  as  for  line  and 
nile,  these  were  beneath  Rory's  consideration  ;  this  the 
ctting  of  the  glass  proved — for  there  was  no  attempt  at 
either  the  perpendicular,  the  horizontal  or  the  plane  ;  and 
from  the  last  being  wanting,  the  various  portions  of  the 
^lass  presented  different  angles,  so  that  it  reflected  a  very 
distorted  image  of  every  object,  and  your  face,  if  you  would 
believe  the  glass,  was  as  crooked  as  a  ram's  horn — which 
\  take  to  be  the  best  of  all  comparisons  for  crookedness. 
Mary  O'More,  however,  though  as  innocent  a  girl  as  any 
m  the  country,  did  not  believe  that  her  face  was  very 
crooked  ;  it  was  poor  Rory  who  principally  suffered,  for 
he  was  continually  giving  himself  most  uncharitable  gashes 
in  shaving,  which  Rory  attributed  to  the  razor,  when  in  fact 
it  was  the  glass  was  in  fault  ;  for  when  he  fancied  he  was 
going  to  smooth  his  upper  lip,  the  chances  were  that  he 
was  making  an  assault  on  his  nose,  or  cutting  a  slice  off  his 
chin. 

But  this  glass  has  taken  up  a  great  deal  too  much  time — 
which,  after  all,  is  not  uncommon  ;  when  people  get  before 
a  glass,  they  are  very  likely  to  linger  there  longer  than  they 
ought. 

But  I  need  not  go  on  describing  any  more  about  the 
cottage — nobody  wants  an  inventory  of  its  furniture,  and  ! 
am  neither  an  auctioneer  nor  a  bailiff's  keeper.  I  have 
said  Rory's  father  was  a  mason.  Now  his  mother  was  a 
widow — argal  (as  the  grave-digger  hath  it),  his  father  was 


RORY   O'MCKE. 


dead.  Poor  O'More,  after  laying  stones  all  his  life,  at  las»: 
had  a  stone  laid  over  him  ;  and  Rory,  with  filial  piety 
carved  a  crucifix  upon  it,  surmounted  by  the  letters  I.  H. 
S.,  and  underneath,  this  inscription  : 

"  Pray  for  the  sowl  of  Rory  O'More  ;  Requiescat  in 
pace." 

This  inscription  was  Rory's  first  effort  in  sepulchral 
sculpture,  and,  from  his  inexperience  in  the  art,  it  presented 
a  ludicrous  appearance  ;  for,  from  the  importance  Rory 
attached  to  his  father's  soul — or,  as  he  had  it,  sowl — he 
wished  to  make  the  word  particularly  conspicuous  ;  but, 
in  doing  this,  he  cut  the  letters  so  large  that  he  did  not 
leave  himself  room  to  finish  the  word,  and  it  became  di- 
vided— the  w^ord  requiescat  became  also  divided.  The  in- 
scription therefore  stood  as  follows  : 


You  were  thus  called  on  to  pray  for  the  Sow  in  one  cor- 
ner while  the  Cat  was  conspicuous  in  the  other. 

Such  was  Rory's  first  attempt  in  this  way,  and  thougli 
the  work  has  often  made  others  smile,  poor  Rory's  tears 
had  moistened  every  letter  of  it,  and  this  humble  tomb- 
stone was  garlanded  with  as  much  affection  as  the  morf- 
costly  ones  of  modern  Pere  La  Chaise  ;  and  though  ther'5 
were  none  who  could  read  whc  did  not  laugh  at  the  ab- 
surdity, yet  they  regards  d  Rory's  feelings  too  much  to  lee 
him  be  a  witness  of  such  mirth.  Indeed,  Rory  would  have 
resented  with  indignation  the  attempt  to  make  the  grav*j 


S  RORY  O'MORE. 

of  his  father  the  subject  of  laughter  ;  for  in  no  country  is 
the  hallowed  reverence  for  father  and  mother  more  ob- 
served than  in  Ireland. 

Besides,  Rory  was  not  a  little  praud  of  his  name.  He 
was  taught  to  believe  there  was  good  blood  in  his  veins, 
and  that  he  was  descended  from  the  O'Mores  of  Leinster. 
Then,  an  old  schoolmaster  in  the  district,  whose  pupil 
Rory  had  been,  was  constantly  recounting  to  him  the 
glorious  deeds  of  his  progenitors — or,  as  he  called  them, 
"  his  owld  anshint  anshisthers  in  the  owld  anshint  times," 
— and  how  he  should  never  disgrace  himself  by  doing  a 
dirty  turn.  "  Not  that  I  ever  seen  the  laste  sign  iv  it  in 
you,  ma  bouchal — but  there's  no  knowin.'  And  sure  the 
devil's  busy  with  us  sometimes,  and  dales  in  timtayshins, 
and  lays  snares  for  us,  all  as  one  as  you'd  snare  a  hare  or 
kef.ch  sparrows  in  a  thrap  ;  and  who  can  tell  the  minit  that 
he  might  be  layin'  salt  on  your  tail  onknownst  to  you,  if 
you  worn't  smart  ? — and  therefore  be  always  mindful  of 
your  anshisthers,  that  wor  of  the  highest  blood  in  Ireland, 
and  in  one  of  the  highest  places  in  it,  too,  Dunamaise — I 
mane  the  rock  of  Dunamaise  and  no  less.  And  there  is 
where  Rory  O'More,  king  of  Leinsther,  lived  in  glory, 
time  out  o'mind  ;  and  the  Lords  of  the  Pale  darn't  touch 
him — and  pale  enough  he  made  them,  often,  I  go  bail  ;  and 
there  he  was — like  an  aigle  on  his  rock,  and  the  dirty  En- 
glish afeard  o'  their  lives  to  go  within  miles  in  him,  and  he 
shut  up  in  his  castle  as  stout  as  a  ram." 

In  such  rhodomontade  used  Phelim  O'Flanagan  to  flour- 
ish away,  and  delight  the  ears  of  Rory  and  Mary,  and  the 
widow's  no  less.  Phelim  was  a  great  character  :  he  wore 
a  scratch  wig  that  had  been  built  somewhere  about  the 
year  one,  and  from  its  appearance  might  justify  the  notion 
that  Phelim's  wig-box  was  a  dripping-pan.  He  had  a  pair 
of  spectacles,  which  held  their  place  upon  his  nose  by  tak- 
ing a  strong  grip  of  it,  producing  thereby  a  snuffling  pro- 
nunciation, increased  by  his  taking  of  snuff  ;  indeed  so 
closely  was  his  proboscis  embraced  by  his  primitive  pair 
of  spectacles,  that  he  could  not  have  his  pinch  of  snuff 
without  taking  them  off,  as  they  completely  blockaded  the 
passage.  They  were  always  stuck  low  down  on  his  nose, 
so  that  he  could  see  over  them  when  he  wished  it,  and  this 
ne  did  for  all  distant  objects  ;  while  for  reading  he  was 
obliged  to  throw  his  head  back  to  bring  his  eyes  to  bear 
through  the  glasses  ;  and  this,  forcing  the  rear  of  his  wig 
downward  on  the  collar  of  his  coat,  shoved  it  forward  on 


RORY   O'MORE.  7 

his  forehead,  and  stripped  the  back  of  his  pate  ;  in  the 
former  case  his  eyes  were  as  round  as  an  owl's,  and  in  the 
other,  closed  nearly  into  an  expression  of  disdain,  or  at 
least  of  great  consequence.  His  coat  was  of  gray  frieze, 
and  his  nether  garment  of  bucksl<in,  equalling  the  polish 
of  his  Avig,  and  surpassing  that  of  his  shoes,  which  indeed 
were  not  polished,  except  on  Sunday,  or  such  occasions  as 
the  priest  of  the  parish  was  expected  to  pay  his  school  a 
visit — and  then  the  polish  was  produced  by  the  brogues 
h€\x\^  greased,  so  that  the  resemblance  to  the  wig  was  more 
perfect.  Stockings  he  had,  after  a  sort ;  that  is  to  say,  he 
had  woollen  cases  for  his  legs,  but  there  were  not  any  feet 
to  them  ;  they  were  stuffed  into  the  shoe  to  make  believe, 
and  the  deceit  was  tolerably  well  executed  in  front,  where 
Phelim  had  them  under  his  eye  ;  but,  like  Achilles,  he  was 
vulnerable  in  the  heel — indeed,  worse  off  than  that  re- 
nowned hero,  for  he  had  only  one  heel  unprotected,  while 
poor  Phelim  had  both.  On  Monday,  Tuesday,  and  Wed- 
nesday, Phelim  had  a  shirt— you  saw  he  had  ;  but  toward 
the  latter  end  of  the  week,  from  the  closely  buttoned  coat:, 
and  the  ambuscade  of  a  spotted  handkerchief  round  his 
neck,  there  was  ground  for  suspicion  that  the  shirt  was 
imder  the  process  of  washing,  that  it  might  be  ready  for  ser- 
vice on  Sunday  ;  when,  at  mass,  Phelim's  shirt  was  always 
at  its  freshest. 

There  was  a  paramount  reason,  to  be  sure,  why  Phelim 
sported  a  clean  shirt  in  chapel  on  Sunday  ;  he  officiated  as 
clerk  during  the  service — or,  as  it  would  be  said  among 
the  peasantry,  he  "  sarved  mass  ;  "  and  in  such  a  post  of 
honor,  personal  decency  is  indispensable.  In  this  service 
he  was  assisted  by  a  couple  of  boys,  who  were  the  head  of 
his  school,  and  enjoyed  great  immunities  in  consequence. 
In  the  first  place,  they  were  supposed,  by  virtue  of  the  dig- 
nity to  which  they  were  advanced,  to  understand  more  Latin 
than  any  of  the  rest  of  the  boys  ;  and  from  the  necessity 
of  their  being  decently  clad,  they  were  of  course  the  sons 
of  the  most  comfortable  farmers  in  the  district,  who  could 
afford  the  luxury  of  shoes  and  stockings  to  their  children, 
to  enable  them  to  act  as  acolytes.  The  boys  themselves 
seemed  to  like  the  thing  well  enough,  as  their  frequent 
passing  and  repassing  behind  the  priest  at  the  altar,  with 
various  genuflexions,  gave  them  a  position  of  importance 
before  the  neighbors  that  was  gratifying  ;  and  they  seemed 
to  lie  equally  pleased  up  to  one  point,  and  to  proceed  in 
pL-rfect  harmony  until  the  ringing  of  a  little  bell,  and  that 


S  RORV   O'MORE. 

was  the  signal  for  a  fight  between  them — when  I  say  fight, 
I  do  not  mean  that  they  boxed  each  other  before  (or  rather 
behind)  the  priest,  but  to  all  intents  and  purposes  there 
was  a  struggle  who  should  get  the  bell,  as  that  seemed  the 
great  triumph  of  the  day  ;  and  the  little  bell  certainly  had 
a  busy  time  of  it,  for  the  boy  that  had  it  seemed  indued 
with  a  prodigious  accession  of  devotion  ;  and  as  he  bent 
liimself  to  the  very  earth,  he  rattled  the  bell  till  it  seemed 
choking  with  superabundant  vibration  ;  while  the  Christi- 
anity of  his  brother  acolyte  seemed  to  suffer  in  proportion 
to  the  piety  of  his  rival,  for  he  did  not  bow  half  so  low, 
and  was  looking  with  a  sidelong  eye  and  sulky  mouth  at 
his  victorious  coadjutor. 

As  for  Phelim,  his  post  of  honor  was  robing  and  unrob- 
ing the  priest  before  the  altar  ;  for  in  the  humble  little 
chapel  where  all  this  was  wont  to  occur,  there  was  no  vestry 
-.-the  priest  was  habited  in  his  vestments  in  the  presence  of 
Lis  congregation.      But  Phelim's  grand  triumph  seemed  to 

nie  his  assisting  his  clergy  in  sprinkling  the  flock  with  holy 
/•ater.  This  was  done  by  means  of  a  large  sprinkling 
brush,  which  the  priest  dipped  from  time  to  time  in  a  ves- 
i.el  of  holy  water  which  Phelim  held,  and  waving  it  to  the 
light  and  left,  cast  it  over  the  multitude.  For  this  pur- 
I'ose,  at  a  certain  period,  the  little  gate  ^f  a  small  area 
jound  the  altar  was  opened  and  forth  stepped  round  the 
](,iriest,  followed  by  Phelim  bearing  the  holy  water.  Now 
at  happened  that  the  vessel  which  held  it  was  no  other  than 
a  bucket.  I  do  not  mean  this  irreverently,  for  holy  water 
•would  be  as  holy  in  a  bucket  as  in  a  golden  urn  ;  but,  God 
forgive  me  !  I  could  not  help  thinking  it  rather  queer  to 
see  Phelim  bearing  this  great  bucket  of  water,  with  a  coun- 
tenance indicative  of  the  utmost  pride  and  importance, 
following  the  priest,  who  advanced  through  the  crowd, 
tiiat  opened  and  bowed  before  him  as  his  reverence  ever 
and  anon  turned  round,  and  popped  his  sprinkling-brush 
into  the  water,  and  slashed  it  about  right  and  left  over  his 
flock,  that  courted  the  shower,  and  were  the  happier  the 
more  they  were  wet.  Poor  people  !  if  it  made  them  happy, 
where  was  the  harm  of  it  ?  A  man  is  not  considered  un- 
worthy of  the  blessings  of  the  constitution  of  Great  Britain 
by  getting  wet  to  the  skin  in  the  pelting  rain  of  the  equi- 
no.x  ;  and  I  cannot,  nor  ever  could,  see,  why  a  few  drops 
of  holy  water  sliould  exclude  him.  But  hang  pliilosophyl 
what  has  it  to  do  with  a  novel  ? 

Phelim,  like  a  great  many  other  hedge  schoolmasters 


I^ORY  O'MORE.  9 

held  his  rank  in  the  Church  of  Rome  from  his  being  able 
to  mumble  some  scraps  of  Latin,  which  being  the  only 
language  his  sable  majesty  does  nut  understand,  is  there- 
fore the  one  selected  for  the  celebration  of  the  mass.  How 
a  prince  of  his  importance  could  be  so  deficient  in  his  edu- 
cation, may  well  create  surprise,  particularly  as  he  is  so 
constant  an  inmate  of  our  universities. 

Phelim's   Latin,  to  be  sure,  could   scarcely  "shame   the 

d 1,"  though  certainly  it  might  have  puzzled  him.     It 

was  a  barbarous  jargon,  and  but  for  knowing  the  phrases 
he  meant  to  say,  no  one  could  comprehend  him.  Spiritu 
iuo,  was  from  his  mouth,  "  Sperciiew  chew  o,"  and  so  on. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  not  in  chapel  alone  that  Phelirn 
sported  his  Latin — nor  in  his  school  either,  where  for  an 
additional  twopence  a-week,  he  inducted  his  scholars  int:; 
the  mysteries  of  the  classics  (and  mysteries  might  the) 
well  be  called) — but  even  in  his  social  intercourse,  he  wav; 
fond  of  playing  the  pedant  and  astonishing  the  vulgar 
and  as  poaching  piscators  throw  medicated  crumbs  into 
the  waters  where  they  fish,  so  Phelim  flung  about  his  mor- 
sels of  Latin  to  catch  kis  gudgeons.  Derivations  were  hi> 
forte  ;  and  after  elucidating  something  in  that  line,  \\\: 
alwrtys  said,  "  Derry  wather,"  and  took  snuff  with  an  ait 
of  sublimity.  Or,  if  he  overcame  an  antagonist  in  an  ar- 
gument, which  was  seldom  the  case,  because  few  dared  to 
engage  with  him — but  when  any  individual  was  rash 
enough  to  encounter  Phelim,  he  always  slaughtered  him 
with  big  words,  and  instead  of  addressing  his  opponent,  he 
would  turn  to  the  company  present  and  say,  "Now  I'll 
make  yiz  all  sinsible  to  a  demonstheration  ;"  and  then, 
after  he  had  held  them  suspended  in  wonder  for  a  few 
minutes  at  the  jumble  of  hard  words  which  neither  he  nor 
they  understood,  he  would  look  round  the  circle  with  a 
patronizing  air,  saying,  "You  persaive — q.e.d.  what  was 
to  be  demonstherated  !  " 

This  always  finished  the  argument  in  the  letter,  but  not 
in  the  spirit ;  for  Phelim,  though  he  secured  silence,  did 
not  produce  persuasion  ;  his  adversary  often  kept  his  own 
opinion,  but  kept  it  a  secret,  too,  as  long  as  Phelim  -ivas 
present ;  "for  how,"  as  they  themselves  said  when  his  back 
was  turned,  "  could  it  be  expected  for  them  to  argufy  with 
him  when  he  took  to  discoorsiii  them  out  o'  their  common 
sense?  and  the  hoighth  o'  fine  language  it  sartainly  was  — 
but  sure  it  wouldnt  stand  to  raison."  How  many  a  speech  in 
higher  places  is  worthy  of  the  same  commentary ! 


JO  RORY  O'MORE. 

Perhaps  I  have  lingered  too  long  in  detailing  these  pe- 
culiarities of  Phelim  ;  but  he  was  such  an  original,  that  a 
sketch  of  him  was  too  great  a  temptation  to  be  resisted ; 
besides,  as  he  is  about  to  appear  immediately,  I  wish  the 
reader  to  have  some  idea  of  the  sort  of  person  he  was. 

The  evening  was  closing  as  Phelim  O'Flanagan  strolled 
up  the  boreen  leading  to  the  widow  O'More's  cottage.  On 
reaching  the  house  he  saw  the  widow  sitting  at  the  door, 
knitting. 

"God  save  you,  Mrs.  O'More  ?"  said  Phelim. 

"  God  save  you  kindly  !  "  answered  the  widow. 

"  Faitli,  then,  it's  yourself  is  the  industherous  woman, 
Mrs.  O'More,  for  it  is  working  you  are  airly  and  late  ;  and 
to  think  of  your  being  at  the  needles  now,  and  the  evenin' 
closin'  in  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  call  this  work,"  said  the  widow  ;  "  it  is  only 
jist  to  have  something  to  do,  and  not  to  be  lost  with  idle- 
ness, that  I'm  keepin'  my  hands  goin'." 

"  And  your  eyes,  too,  'faith — and   God    spare   them   to 

"  Amin,  dear,"  said  the  widow. 

"  And  where  is  the  colleen,  that  she  isn't  helping  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  she's  jist  gone  beyant  the  meadow  there,  to  cut 
nettles  for  the  chickens — she'll  be  in  in  a  minit.  Won't 
you  sit  down,  Mr.  O'Flanagan  ? — you'd  better  dhraw  asate." 

"I'm  taller  standin',  Mrs.  O'More — thank  you  all  the 
suime,  ma'am.     And  where  would  Rory  be  ?" 

"  Why,  indeed,  the  scholar  wint  out  shootin',  and  Rory 
vj'int  wid  him — it's  fond  of  the  sport  he  is,  Mr.  O'Flanagan, 
ai  you  know." 

"  Thrue  for  you,  ma'am — it's  hard  if  I  wouldn't,  when  I 
sot  over  him  for  five  years  and  betther  ;  and  hard  it  waste 
keep  him  undher!  for  he  was  always  fond  o'  sport." 

'"  But  not  the  taste  o'  vice  in  him,  Phelim  dear,"  said 
the  mother. 

"  No,  no,  Mrs.  O'More,  by  no  manes — nothing  but  heart 
and  fun  in  him  :  but  not  the  sign  o'  mischief.  And  why 
wouldn't  he  like  to  go  a  start  with  the  young  gintleman  a- 
shootin' — the  dog  and  tlie  gun  is  tempting  to  man  ever 
since  the  days  o'  Vargil  himself,  who  says  with  great 
beauty  and  discrimination  Arma  virunique  cano :  which 
manes,  *Arms,  men  and  dogs,'  which  is  three  things  that 
always  goes  together  since  the  world  began." 

"  Think  o'  that  now  !  "  said  the  Vvudow  :  "  and  so  Vargo 
used  to  go  shootin' !  " 


RORY  O'MORE.  x% 

"  Not  exactly,  Mrs.  O'More,  my  dear  ;  besides  the  man's 
uame  was  not  Vargo,  but  Vargil.  Vargo,  Mrs.  0"More, 
manes  the  Vargin." 

"God  forgi'  me,"  said  the  widow;  "is  it  the  blessed 
Vargin  I  said  wint  shootin'  ? "  and  she  crossed  herself. 

"  No,  Mrs.  O'More,  my  dear — by  no  manes.  Vargo 
manes  only  vargins  ;  which  is  not  blessed,  without  you 
join  it  with  something  else.  But  Vargil  was  the  man's 
name  ;  he  was  a  great  Roman  pote." 

"  Oh,  the  darlin'  !  "  said  the  widow  ;  "  and  was  he  a 
Roman?" 

"  Not  as  you  mane  it,  Mrs.  O'More,  my  dear ;  he  was 
not  a  good  Catholic — and  more's  the  pity,  and  a  sore  loss 
to  him  !  But  he  didn't  know  betther,  for  they  were  lost  in 
darkness  in  them  days,  and  had  not  the  knowledge  of  uz. 
But  whin  I  say  he  was  a  Roman,  I  mane  he  was  of  that 
famous  nation — (and  tearin'  fellows  they  wor  !) — Rojnani 
populi,  as  we  say,  his  nativity  being  cast  in  Mantua,  which 
is  a  famous  port  of  that  counthry,  you  persaive,  Mrs. 
O'More." 

Here  Mrs.  O'More  dropped  her  ball  of  worsted  ;  and 
Phelim,  not  wishing  a  word  of  his  harangue  to  be  lost, 
waited,  till  the  widow  was  reseated  and  in  a  state  of  atten- 
tion again. 

"  Mantua,  I  say,  Mrs.  O'More,  a  famous  port  of  the  Ro- 
mani populi — the  port  of  Mantua — which  retains  to  this  day 
the  honor  of  Vargil's  nativity  being  cast  in  the  same  place, 
you  persaive,  Mrs.  O'More." 

"  Yis,  yis,  Mr.  O'Flanagan.  I'm  mindin'  you,  sir  ;  oh, 
what  a  power  o'  larnin'  you  have  !  Well,  well,  but  it's 
wonderful ! — and  sure  I  never  heerd  afore  of  anyone  being 
born  in  a  portmantia." 

"  Oh  !  ho,  ho,  ho  !  Mrs.  O'More  !  No,  my  dear  ma'am," 
said  Phelim,  laughing.  "  I  didn't  say  he  was  born  in  a 
portmantia  ;  I  said  the  port  of  Mantua,  which  was  a  terri- 
torial possession,  or  domain,  as  I  may  say,  of  the  Romani 
populi,  where  Vargil  had  his  nativity  cast — that  is  to  say, 
was  born." 

"  Dear,  dear  !  what  a  knowledge  you  have,  Mr.  O'Flana- 
gan ! — and  no  wondher  you'd  laugh  at  me  !  But  sure  no 
wondher  at  the  same  time,  when  I  thought  you  wor  talkin' 
of  a  portmantia,  that  I  7<:'c/^/^  wondher  at  a  child  being  sent 
into  the  world  in  that  manner." 

"  Quite  nath'ral,  Mrs.  O'More,  my  dear — quite  nath'ral," 
said  Phelim. 


12  RORY   O'MORE. 


"  But  can  you  tell  mc 


"To  be  sure  I  can,"  said  Phelim  ;  "what  is  it?" 

"  I  mane  would  you  tell  me,  Mr.  O'Flanagan,  is  that  th« 
place  portmantias  comes  from  ?" 

"Why,  indeed,  Mrs.  O'More,  it  is  likely,  from  the  derry- 
wation,  that  it  is  :  but,  you  see,  these  is  small  trifles  o'  his- 
tory that  is  not  worth  the  while  o'  great  min  to  notice ; 
and  by  raison  of  that  same  we  are  left  to  our  own  conjunc- 
tures in  sitch  matthers." 

"Dear,  dear!  Well — but,  sir,  did  that  gintleman  you 
wor  talkin'  about  go  a  shootin' — that  Mr.  Varjuice " 

"  Vargil,  Mrs.  O'More — Var-gil,"  said  Phelim,  with  au' 
thority. 

"  I  beg  his  pard'n  and  yours,  sir." 

"No  oflftnse,  Mrs.   O'More.     Why,  ma'am,  as  for  goin' 
shootin',  he  did  not — and  for  various  raisons  :  guns  was 
scarce  in  thim  times,  and  gu npowdher  was  not  in  vogue, 
but  was  by  all  accounts  attributed  to  Friar  Bacon  poster! 
orly." 

"  Oh,  the  dirty  divils  !  "  said  the  widow,  to  fry  their  ba- 
con with  gunpowder — that  bates  all  I  ever  heerd." 

Phelim  could  not  help  laughing  outright  at  the  widow's 
mistake,  and  was  about  to  explain,  but  she  was  a  little  an- 
noyed at  being  laughed  at,  and  Rory  O'More  and  the 
scholar,  as  he  was  called,  having  returned  at  the  moment, 
she  took  the  opportunity  of  retiring  into  the  house,  and 
left  Phelim  and  his  explanation  and  the  sportsmen  alto- 
gether. 


CHAPTER   11. 


Showing  how  a  Journey  may  be  Performed  on  a  Gridiron  without  going 

as  far  as  St.  Lawrence. 

The  arrival  of  Rory  O'More  and  the  scholar  having  put 
an  end  to  the  colloquy  of  the  widow  and  Phelim  O'Flana- 
gan, the  reader  may  as  well  be  informed,  during  the  pause, 
who  the  person  is  already  designated  under  the  title  of 
"  the  scholar." 

It  was  some  wrecks  before  the  opening  of  our  story  that 
Rory  O'More  had  gone  to  Dublin  for  the  transaction  of 
some  business  connected  with  the  lease  of  the  little  farm 
of  the  widow — if  the  few  acres  she  held  might  be  dignified 
with  that  name.     Thei-e  was  only  some  ver\'^  subordinate 


JiORY  O'MORE.  13 

person  on  the  spot  to  whom  any  communication  on  the 
subject  could  be  made,  for  the  agent,  following  the  example 
of  the  lord  of  the  soil,  was  an  absentee  from  the  property 
as  well  as  his  employer — the  landlord  residing  principally 
in  London,  though  deriving  most  of  his  income  from  Ire- 
land, and  the  agent  living  in  Dublin,  making  half-yearly 
visits  to  the  tenantry',  whenever  saw  his  face  until  he  came 
to  ask  for  their  rents.  As  it  happened  that  it  was  in  the 
six  months'  interregnum  that  the  widow  wished  to  arrange 
about  her  lease,  she  sent  her  son  to  Dublin  for  the  purpose. 
"  For  what's  the  use,"  said  she,  "  of  talking  to  that  fellow 
that's  down  here,  who  can  never  give  you  a  straight  an- 
swer, but  goes  on  with  his  gosther,  and  says  he'll  write 
about  it,  and  will  have  word  for  you  next  time  ;  and  so  keeps 
goin'  hither  and  thither,  and  all  the  time  the  thing  is  just 
where  it  was  before,  and  never  comes  to  anything  ?  So, 
Rory,  dear,  in  God's  name,  go  off  yourself  and  see  the  agint 
in  Dublin,  and  get  the  rights  o'  the  thing  out  o'  his  own 
mouth."  So  Rory  set  out  for  Dublin,  not  without  plentj- 
of  cautions  from  his  mother  to  take  care  of  himself  in  the 
town,  for  she  heard  it  was  "  the  dickens'  own  place  ;  ami 
I'm  towld  they're  sich  rogues  there,  that  if  you  sleep  with 
■your  mouth  open,  they'll  stale  the  teeth  out  o'  your  head." 

"  Faix,  and  may  be  they'd  find  me  like  a  weasel  asleep  ?  " 
itnswered  Rory — "asleep  with  my  eyes  open  ;  and  if  they 
have  such  a  fancy  for  my  teeth,  may  be  it's  in  the  shape  of 
a  bite  they'd  get  them."  For  Rory  had  no  small  notion  of 
his  own  sagacity. 

The  wonders  of  Dublin  gave  Ror}',  on  his  return,  wide 
field  for  descanting  upon,  and  made  his  hearers  wonder  in 
turn.  But  this  is  not  the  time  or  place  to  touch  on  such 
matters.  Suffice  it  here  to  say,  Rory  transacted  his  busi- 
ness in  Dublin  satisfactorily  ;  and  having  done  so,  he 
mounted  his  outside  place  on  one  of  the  coaches  from 
town,  and  found  himself  beside  a  slight,  pale,  but  hand- 
some young  gentleman,  perfectly  free  from  anything  of 
that  repulsive  bearing,  which  sometimes  too  forcibly  marks 
the  distinction  between  the  ranks  of  parties  that  may 
chance  to  meet  in  such  promiscuous  society,  as  that  which 
a  public  conveyance  huddles  together.  He  was  perfectly  ac- 
commodating to  his  fellow-travellers  while  they  were  shak- 
ing themselves  down  into  their  places,  and  on  the  journey  he 
conversed  freely  with  Rory  on  such  subjects  as  the  pass- 
ing occurrences  of  the  road  suggested.  This  unaffected 
conduct  won  him  ready  esteem  and  liking  from  his  humble 


14  RORY  O'MORE. 

neighbor,  as  in  stich  cases  it  never  fails  to  do  ;  but  its  ef- 
fect was  heightened  by  the  contrast  which  another  passen- 
ger afforded,  wlio  seemed  to  consider  it  a  great  degradation 
to  have  a  person  in  Rory's  condition  placed  beside  him ; 
and  he  spoke  in  an  offensive  tone  of  remark  to  the  person 
seated  at  the  other  side,  and  quite  loud  enough  to  be  heard, 
of  the  assurance  of  the  lower  orders,  and  how  hard  it  was 
to  make  low  fellows  understand  how  to  keep  their  distance. 
To  all  this,  Rory,  with  a  great  deal  of  tact,  never  made  any 
reply,  and  to  a  casual  observer  would  have  seemed  not  to 
notice  it  ;  but  to  the  searching  eye  of  his  pale  companion, 
there  was  the  quick  and  momentary  quiver  of  indignation 
on  the  peasant's  lip,  and  the  compression  of  brow  that  de- 
notes pain  and  anger,  the  more  acute  from  their  being  con- 
cealed. But  an  occasion  soon  offered  for  this  insolent  and 
ill-bred  fellow  to  make  an  open  aggression  upon  Rory, 
which  our  hero  returned  with  interest.  After  one  of  the 
stoppages  on  the  road  for  refreshment,  the  passengers  re- 
sumed their  places,  and  the  last  to  make  his  reappearance 
was  this  bashaw.  On  getting  up  to  his  seat,  he  said, 
"  Where's  my  coat  ?" 

To  this  no  one  made  any  answer,  and  the  question  was 
soon  repeated  in  a  louder  tone  :  '*  Where's  my  coat  ?  " 

"  Your  coat,  is  it,  sir  ?  "  said  the  coachman. 

"  Yes — my  coat ;  do  you  know  anything  of  it  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  coachman  ;  "  may  be  you  took  it  into 
the  house  with  you." 

"  No,  I  did  not  ;  I  left  it  on  the  coach.  And  by  the 
by,"  said  he,  looking  at  Rory,  "you  were  the  only  person 
who  did  not  quit  the  coach — d\&yoii  take  it  ? " 

"  Take  what  ?  "  said  Rory,  with  a  peculiar  emphasis  and 
intonation  on  the  ivhat. 

"  My  coat,"  said  the  other,  with  extreme  effrontery. 

"  I've  a  coat  o'  my  own,"  said  Rory,  with  great  compos- 
ure. 

"  That's  not  an  answer  to  my  question,"  said  the  other. 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  be  glad  to  get  so  quiet  an  an- 
swer," said  Rory. 

"  I  think  so,  too/'  said  the  pale  traveller. 

"  I  did  not  address  my  conversation  to  you,  sir,"  said  the 
swaggering  gentleman. 

"  If  you  did,  sir,  you  should  have  been  lying  in  the  mid. 
die  of  the  road,  now,"  was  the  taunting  rejoinder. 

At  this  moment  a  waiter  made  his  appearance  at  the 
duor  of  the  inn,  bearing  the  missing  coat  on  his  arm  ;  and. 


RORY   O'MORJ:..  ^5 

handing  it  up  to  the  owner,  he  said,  "You  left  this  behind 
you  in  the  parlor,  sir." 

The  effect  was  what  anyone  must  anticipate  ;  indignnnt 
eyes  were  turned  on  all  sides  upon  the  person  making  so 
wanton  an  aggression,  and  he  himself  seemed  to  stagger 
under  the  evidence  against  him.  He  scarcely  knew  what 
to  do.  After  much  stammering,  and  hemming  and  haw- 
ing, he  took  the  coat  from  the  waiter,  and,  turning  to  Rory, 
said,  "  I  see— I  forgot — I  thought  that  I  left  it  on  the 
coach  ;  but — a — I  see  'twas  a  mistake." 

"  Oh,  make  no  apologies,"  said  Rory  ;  "  we  were  both 
undher  a  mistake." 

"  How  both  ? "  said  the  don. 

"Why,  sir,"  said  Rory,  "you  mistuk  me  for  a  thief,  and 
I  mistuk  you  for  a  gintleman." 

The  swaggerer  could  not  rally  against  the  laugh  this  bit- 
ter repartee  made  against  him,  and  he  was  efiectually  si- 
lenced for  the  rest  of  the  journey. 

Indeed,  the  conversation  soon  slackened  on  all  sides,  for 
it  began  to  rain  ;  and  it  may  be  remarked,  that  under  such 
circumstances  travellers  wrap  up  their  minds  and  bodies  at 
the  same  time  ;  and  once  a  man  draws  his  nose  inside  the  coi- 
lar  of  his  great-coat,  it  must  be  something  much  above  the 
average  of  stage-coach  pleasantry  which  will  make  him  poke 
it  out  again — and  spirits  invariably  fall  as  umbrellas  rise. 

But  neither  great-coats  nor  umbrellas  were  long  proof 
against  the  torrents  that  soon  fell,  for  these  were  not  the 
days  of  Macintosh  and  India-rubber. 

Have  you  ever  remarked  that,  on  a  sudden  dash  of  rain, 
the  coachman  immediately  begins  to  whip  his  horses  ?  So 
it  was  on  the  present  occasion,  and  the  more  it  rained,  the 
faster  he  drove.  Splash  they  went  through  thick  and  thin, 
as  if  velocity  could  have  done  them  any  good  ;  and  the  rain, 
one  might  have  thought,  was  vying  with  the  coachman — 
for  the  faster  he  drove,  the  faster  it  seemed  to  rain. 

At  last  the  passengers  seated  on  the  top  began  to  feel 
their  seats  invaded  by  the  flood  that  deluged  the  roof  of 
the  coach,  just  as  they  entered  a  town  where  there  was  a 
chans:e  of  horses  to  be  made.  The  moment  the  coach 
stopped,  Rory  O'More  jumped  off,  and  said  to  the  coach- 
man, "  I'll  be  back  with  you  before  you  go — but  don't  start 
before  I  come  ;  "  and  away  he  ran  down  the  town. 

"  Faix,  that's  a  sure  way  of  being  back  before  I  go,"  said 
tiie  driver;  "  but  you'd  better  not  delay,  my  buck,  or  it's 
behind  I'll  lave  you." 


'6  RORt    O'i.i'^.'l^E. 

While  change  was  being  maue  tne  passengers  endeavored 
to  procure  wads  of  straw  to  sit  upon,  for  the  wet  became 
more  and  more  inconvenient  ;  and  at  last  all  was  ready  for 
starting,  and  Rory  had  not  yet  returned.  The  horn  was 
blown,  and  the  coachman's  patience  was  just  worn  out, 
when  Rory  hove  in  sight,  splashing  his  way  through  the 
middle  of  the  street,  flourishing  two  gridirons  over  his  head. 

"Here  I  am,"  said  he,  panting  and  nearly  exhausted  ; 
"  faith  I'd  a  brave  run  of  it  !  " 

"Why,  thin,  what  the  dickens  do  you  want  here  with 
gridirons  ?"  said  the  coachman. 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  said  Rory  ;  "  jest  give  me  a  whisp  o' 
straw,  and  God  bless  you,"  said  he  to  one  of  the  helpers 
who  was  standing  by  ;  and  having  got  it,  he  scrambled  up 
the  coach,  and  said  to  his  pale  friend,  "  Now,  sir,  we'll  be 
comfortable." 

■"  I  don't  see  much  likelihood  of  it,"  said  his  fellow-trav- 
eller. 

"Why,  look  what  I've  got  for  you,"  said  Rory. 

"  Oh,  that  straw  will  soon  be  sopped  with  rain,  and  then 
we'll  be  as  badly  off  as  before." 

"  But  it's  not  on  sthraw  I'm  depindin',"  said  Rory  ;  "  look 
at  this  !  "  and  he  brandished  one  of  tlie  gridirons. 

"  I  have  heard  of  stopping  the  tide  with  a  pitchfork," 
-said  the  traveller,  smiling,  "but  never  of  keeping  out  rain 
with  a  gridiron." 

"  Faith,  thin,  I'll  show  you  how  to  do  that  same,"  said 
Rory.  "Here — sit  up — clap  this  gridiron  u/idher you,  and 
you'll  be  tmdhcr  wather  no  longer.  Stop,  sir,  stay  a  rainit 
— don't  sit  down  on  the  bare  bars,  and  be  makin'  a  beef- 
steak o'  yourself  ;  here's  a  wisp  o'  sthraw  to  put  betune 
you  and  the  cowld  irons — and  not  a  dhryer  sate  in  all  Ire- 
land than  the  same  gridirons." 

The  young  traveller  obeyed,  and  while  he  admired  the  in- 
genuity, could  not  help  laughing  at  the  whimsicality  of  the 
contrivance. 

"You  see  I've  another  for  myself,"  said  Rory,  seating 
himself  in  a  similar  manner  on  his  second  gridiron  ;  "  ant), 
now,"  added  he,  "as  far  as  the  sates  is  consarned,  it  may 
rain  till  doomsday." 

Away  went  the  coach  again  ;  and  for  some  time  after  re- 
suming the  journey,  the  young  traveller  was  revolving  tlic 
oddity  of  the  foregoing  incident  in  his  mind,  and  led  by  his 
train  of  thought  to  the  consideration  of  national  character- 
istics, he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  an  Irishman  was  th© 


RORY    O'^^ORfL-.  1-j 

only  man  under  the  sun  who  could  have  hit  upon  so  strange 
an  expedient  for  relieving  them  from  their  difficulty.  He 
was  struck  not  only  by  the  originality  of  the  design  and 
the  promptness  of  the  execution,  but  also  by  the  good  nat- 
ure of  his  companion  in  thinking  of  him  on  the  occasion. 
After  these  conclusions  had  passed  through  his  own  mind, 
he  turned  to  Rory,  and  said  : 

"What  was  it  made  you  think  of  a  gridiron  ?  " 

"  Why,  thin,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Rory.  "  I  promised  my 
mother  to  bring  a  present  to  the  priest  from  Dublin,  and  I 
could  not  make  up  my  mind  rightly  what  to  get  all  the  time 
I  was  there.  I  thought  of  a  pair  o'  top-boots  ;  for  indeed 
his  reverence's  is  none  of  the  best,  and  ovXyyoxxkiioiu  them 
to  be  top-boots,  you  would  not  take  them  to  be  top-boots, 
bekase  the  bottoms  has  been  put  in  so  often  that  the  tops 
is  wore  out  entirely,  and  is  no  more  like  top-boots  than  m  7 
brogues.  So  I  wint  to  a  shop  in  Dublin,  and  picked  owt 
the  purtiest  pair  o'  top-boots  I  could  see — whin  I  say  purty, 
I  don't  mane  a  fiourishin'  'taarin  '  pair,  but  sitch  as  was  fit 
for  a  priest,  a  respectable  pair  o'  boots — and  with  that  I 
pulled  out  my  good  money  to  pay  for  thim,  whin  just  3.t 
that  minit,  remembering  the  thricks  o'  the  town,  I  be-- 
thought  o'  myself,  and  says  I,  '  I  suppose  these  are  the  right 
thing  ?'  says  I  to  the  man.  '  You  can  thry  them,'  says  he. 
'  How  can  I  thry  them  ?  '  says  I.  '  Pull  them  on  you,'  says 
he.  '  Throth  an'  I'd  be  sorry,'  says  I,  'to  take  sitch  a  lib- 
erty with  them,'  says  I.  '  Why,  aren't  you  goin'  to  ware 
thim  ? '  says  he.  '  Is  it  me  ? '  says  I.  '  Me  ware  top-boots  ? 
Do  you  think  it's  takin'  lave  of  my  sinses  I  am  ? '  says  I. 
'  Thin  what  do  you  want  to  buy  them  for  ? '  says  he.  '  For 
his  reverence,  Father  Kinshela,'  says  I.  'Are  they  the 
right  sort  for  him  ? '  '  How  should  I  know  ? '  says  he. 
'  You're  a  purty  boot-maker,'  says  I,  '  not  to  know  how  to 
make  a  priest's  boots.'  '  How  do  I  know  his  size  ? '  says 
he.  'Oh,  don't  be  comin'  off  that-a-way,' says  I.  'There's 
no  sitch  great  differ  betune  priests  and  other  min  ? '  " 

"  I  think  you  were  very  right  there,"  said  the  pale  trav- 
eller. 

"  To  be  sure,  sir,"  said  Rory  ;  "and  it  was  only  jist  iconic 
ofiox  his  own  ignorance.  'Tell  me  his  size,'  says  the  fel- 
low, '  and  I'll  fit  him.'  '  He's  betune  five  and  six  fut,'  says 
I.  'Most  men  are,'  says  he,  laughin'  at  me.  He  was  an 
impidint  fellow.  '  It's  not  the  five,  nor  six,  but  his  two  feet 
I  want  to  know  the  size  of,'  says  he.  So  I  persaived  he  was 
jeerin'    me,    and    says    I^    'Why,    thin,   you    disrespectful 

9 


i8  RORY  O'MORh. 

vagabone  o'  the  world,  you  Dublin  jackeen  !  do  you  mane 
to  insinivate  that  Father  Kinshela  ever  vvint  barefutted  in 
liis  life,  that  I  could  know  the  size  of  his  fut  ! '  says  I,  and 
with  that  I  threw  the  boots  in  his  face.  'Take  that,'  says 
I,  'you  dirty  thief  o'  the  world  !  you  impident vagabone  o' 
the  world  !  you  ignorant  citizen  o'  the  world  ! '  And  with 
that  I  left  the  place." 

The  travellers  laughed  outright  at  the  absurdity  of 
Rory's  expectation  that  well-fitting  boots  for  all  persons 
were  to  be  made  by  intuition. 

"  'Faith,  I  thought  it  would  plaze  you,"  said  Rory, 
"  Don't  you  think  I  sarved  him  right  ? " 

"  You  astonished  him,  I  dare  say." 

"  I'll  engage  I  did.  Wanting  to  humbug  me  that  way, 
taking  me  for  a  nath'ral  bekase  I  come  from  the  coun- 
thry !  " 

"Oh,  I'm  not  sure  of  that,"  said  the  traveller.  "It  is 
their  usual  practice  to  take  the  measure  of  their  cus- 
tomers." 

"Is  it  thin?" 

"  It  really  is." 

"  See  that  now  ! "  said  Rory,  with  an  air  of  triumph. 
"You  would  think  that  they  wor  cleverer  in  the  town  than 
in  the  counthry  ;  and  they  ought  to  be  so,  by  all  accounts  ; 
but  in  the  regard  of  what  I  towld  you,  you  see,  we're  be- 
fore them  intirely." 

"  How  so  ?  "  said  the  traveller. 

"  Arrah  !  bekase  they  never  throuble  people  in  the 
counthry  at  all  with  takiu'  their  measure  ;  but  you  jist  go 
to  a  fair,  and  bring  your  fut  along  with  you,  and  somebody 
else  dhrives  a  cartful  o'  brogues  into  the  place,  and  there 
you  sarve  yourself  :  and  so  the  man  gets  his  money  and 
you  get  your  shoes,  and  everyone's  plazed.  Now,  isn't 
that  better  than  sitch  botches  as  thim  in  Dublin,  that  must 
have  the  measure,  and  keep  you  waitin'  ?  while  in  the 
counthry  there's  no  delay  in  life,  but  it's  jist  down  with 
your  money  and  off  with  your  brogues  !  " 

"  On  with  your  brogues,  you  mean  ?  "  said  the  traveller. 

"No,  indeed,  now!"  said  Rory;  "you're  out  there. 
Sure  we  wouldn't  be  so  wasteful  as  to  put  on  a  bran  new 
pair  o'  brogues  to  go  lickin'  the  road  home  '  No,  in 
throth  :  we  keep  them  for  the  next  dance  we're  gom'  to,  oi 
may  be  to  go  to  chapel  of  a  Sunday." 

"  And  if  you  don't  put  them  on,  how  can  you  tell  they 
fit  you?" 


RORY   O'MORE.  tg 

"  Oh,  they're  all  alike  !  " 

"But  what  would  you  do,  when  you  wanted  to  go  to 
your  dance,  if  you  found  your  brogues  were  too  small  ?" 

*'  Oh,  that  niver  happens.     They're  all  fine  aisy  shoes." 

"Well,  but  if  they  prove  too  easy  ?" 

"That's  aisy  cured,"  said  Rory.  "Stuff  a  trifle  o'  hay 
into  them,  like  the  Mullingar  heifers." 

"  Mullingar  heifers  !  "  said  the  traveller,  rather  surprised 
by  the  oddity  of  the  expression. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Rory  ;  "  did  you  never  hear  of  the  Mul- 
lingar heifers  ? " 

"Never." 

"Why,  you  see,  sir,  the  women  in  Westmeath,  they  say, 
ib  thick  in  the  legs,  God  help  them,  the  craythurs  !  and  so 
there's  a  saying  agen  thim,  '  your  beef  to  the  heels,  like  a 
Mullingar  heifer.'" 

"Oh!  I  perceive." 

**Yes,  sir,  and  it's  all  on  account  of  what  I  towld  you 
about  the  hay." 

"  How  ? "  said  the  traveller. 

"Why,  there's  an  owld  joke  you  may  take  a  turn  out  of, 
ii  you  like,  whin  you  see  a  girl  that's  thick  in  the  fetlock 
• — you  call  after  her  and  say,  'Young  woman  ! '  She  turns 
round,  and  then  says  you,  '  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,  but 
I  think  you're  used  to  wear  hay  in  your  shoes.'  Thin,  if 
she's  innocent,  she'll  ask  'Why?' — and  thin  you'll  say, 
*  Bekase  the  calves  has  run  down  your  legs  to  get  at  it.' " 

"I  see,"  said  the  stranger;  "that  is,  if  she's  innocent?" 

"Yes,  sir — simple  I  mane;  but  that  seldom  happens, 
for  they're  commonly  up  to  you,  and  'cute  enough." 

"  Now,  in  case  she's  not  innocent,  as  you  say  ? "  said  the 
traveller. 

'"Faith?  may  be  it's  a  sharp  answer  you'll  get  thin,  or 
none.  It's  as  like  as  not  she  may  say,  'Thank'ee,  young 
man,  my  calf  doesn't  like  hay,  and  you're  welkim  to  \tyotir- 

seifr' ' 

"  But  all  this  time,"  said  the  traveller,  "  you  have  not 
told  me  of  your  reasons  for  getting  the  gridirons." 

"  Oh  !  wait  a  bit,"  said  Rory  ;  "  sure  it's  that  I'm  comin' 
to.     Where's  this  I  was?" 

"You  were  running  down  the  Mullingar  girls'  legs," 
said  the  traveller. 

"I  see  you're  sharp  at  an  answer  yourself,  sir,"  said 
Rory.  "  But  what  I  mane  is,  where  did  I  lave  off  tellin' 
you  about  the  present  for  the  priest  ? — wasn't  it  at  the 


20  RORY   O'MORE. 

Dootmaker's  shop  ? — yes,  that  was  it.  Well,  sir,  on  lavira; 
the  shop  as  soon  as  I  kem  to  myself  after  the  fellow's  ini< 
pidince,  I  begun  to  think  what  was  the  next  best  thing  I 
could  get  for  his  riverence  ;  and  with  that,  while  I  was 
thinkin'  about  it,  I  seen  a  very  respectable  owld  gintle- 
man  goin'  by,  with  the  most  beautiful  stick  in  his  hand  I 
ever  set  my  eyes  on,  and  a  gooiden  head  to  it  that  was 
worth  its  weight  in  goold  ;  and  it  gev  him  such  an  iligant 
look  altogether  that  says  I  myself,  '  It's  the  very  thing  for 
Father  Kinshela,  if  I  could  get  sich  another.'  And  so  I 
wint  lookin'  about  me  every  shop  I  seen  as  I  wint  by,  and 
at  last,  in  a  sthreet  they  call  Dame  Sthreet — and,  by  the 
same  token,  I  didn't  know  why  they  called  it  Dame 
Sthreet  till  I  ax'd  !  and  I  was  towld  they  called  it  Dame 
Sthreet  bekase  tlie  ladies  were  so  fond  o'  walkin'  there— 
and  lovely  craythurs  they  wor  !  and  I  can't  b'lieve  that 
the  town  is  such  an  onwholesome  place  to  live  in,  for  most 
o'  the  ladies  I  seen  there  had  the  most  beautiful  rosy 
cheeks  I  ever  clapt  my  eyes  upon — and  the  beautifuil 
rowlin'  eyes  o'  them  !  Well,  it  was  in  Dame  Sthreet,  as  V 
was  sayin',  that  I  kem  to  a  shop  where  there  was  a  power 
o'  sticks,  and  so  I  wint  in  and  looked  at  thim  ;  and  a  man 
in  the  place  kem  to  me  and  ax'd  me  if  I  wanted  a  cane. 
'No,'  says  I,  '  I  don't  want  a  cane,  it's  a  stick  I  want,'  says 
I.  'A  cane  you  ma7ie'  says  he.  'No,'  says  I,  'It's  a  stick' 
— for  I  was  determined  to  have  no  cane,  but  to  stick  to  the 
stick.  '  Here's  a  nate  one,'  says  he.  '  I  don't  want  a 
nate  one,'  says  I,  '  but  a  responsible  one,'  says  I.  '  'Faith  ! ' 
says  he,  *  if  an  Irishman's  stick  was  responsible,  it  would 
have  a  great  dale  to  answer  for,'  and  he  laughed  a  power. 
I  didn't  know  myself  what  he  meant,  but  that's  what  he 
said." 

"  It  was  because  you  asked  for  a  responsible  stick,"  said 
the  traveller. 

"And  why  wouldn't  I,"  said  Rory,  "when  it  was  for  his 
riverence  I  wanted  it  ?  Why  wouldn't  he  have  a  nice- 
lookin',  respectable,*  responsible  stick  ?" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  traveller. 

"Well,  I  picked  out  one  that  looked  to  my  likin' — a  good 
substantial  stick,  with  an  ivory  top  to  it — for  I  seen  that 
the  goold  headed  ones  was  so  dear  I  couldn't  come  up  to 
them,  and  so  says  I  '  Give  me  a  howld  o'  that,'  says  I — and 
«  tuk  a  grip  iv  it.     I  never  was  so  surprised  in  my  life.     I 

*  Responsible  is  always  applied  by  tlie  Irish  peasantry  in  the  sense  oi 
respectable. 


KO/^y    O'MORE.  2t 

thought  to  get  a  good  brave  handful  of  a  solid  stick,  but 
my  dear,  it  was  well  it  didn't  fly  out  o'  my  hand  a'most,  it 
was  so  light.  '  Phew  ! '  says  I,  'what  sort  of  a  stick  is  this  ?' 
'  I  tell  you  it's  not  a  stick,  but  a  cane,'  says  he.  '  Faith  !  I 
b'lieve  you,'  says  I.  '  You  see  how  good  and  light  it  is,' 
says  he.  Think  o'  that,  sir  ? — to  call  a  stick  good  and  light 
— as  if  there  could  be  any  good  in  life  in  a  stick  that  wasn't 
heavy,  and  could  sthreck  a  good  blow  !  '  Is  it  jokin'  you 
are?'  says  I.  'Don't  you  feel  it  yourself?'  says  he. 
'  Troth,  I  can  hardly  feel  it  at  all,'  says  I.  '  Sure  that's  the 
beauty  of  it,'  says  he.  Think  o'  the  ignorant  vagabone  ! — 
to  call  a  stick  a  beauty  that  was  as  light  a'most  as  a  bul- 
rush ?  '  And  so  you  can  hardly  feel  it  ! '  says  he,  grinnin'. 
*  YJ.s,  indeed,'  says  I  ;  'and  what's  worse,  I  don't  think  I 
could  make  anyone  else  feel  it  either.'  '  Oh  !  you  want  a 
stick  to  bate  people  with  !  '  says  he.  '  To  be  sure,'  •■says  I  ; 
'sure  that's  the  use  of  a  stick.'  '  To  knock  the  sinses  out 
o'  people  ! '  says  he,  grinnin'  again.  'Sartinly,'  says  I,  '  if 
tliey're  saucy' — lookin'  hard  at  him  the  same  time.  'Well, 
tliese  is  only  walkin'-sticks,'  says  he.  '  Troth,  you  may  say 
^iinnifi  sticks,'  says  I,  '  for  you  darn't  stand  before  anyone 
■with  sich  a  thrafieen  as  that  in  your  fist.'  '  Well,  pick  out 
the  heaviest  o'  them'you  plaze,'  says  he  ;  'take  your  choice.' 
So  I  wint  pokin'  and  rummagin'  among  them,  and,  if  you 
believe  me,  there  wasn't  a  stick  in  their  whole  shop  worth 
a  kick  in  the  shins — divil  a  one  !  " 

"  But  why  did  you  require  such  a  heavy  stick  for  the 
priest  ?" 

"  Bekase  there  is  not  a  man  in  the  parish  wants  it  more," 
Sviid  Rory. 

"  Is  he  so  quarrelsome,  then  ? "  asked  the  traveller. 

*'  No,  but  the  greatest  of  pace-makers,"  said  Rory. 

*'  Then  what  does  he  want  the  heavy  stick  for  ? " 

"  For  wallopin'  his  flock,  to  be  sure,"  said  Rory. 

"Walloping!  "  said  the  traveller,  choking  with  laughter. 

**  Oh  !  you  may  laugh,"  said  Rory  ;  "  but  pon  my  sowl  ! 
you  wouldn't  laugh  if  you  wor  undher  his  hand,  for  he  has 
a  brave  heavy  one,  God  bless  him  and  spare  him  to  us  ! " 

"  And  what  is  all  this  walloping  for  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  whin  we  have  a  bit  of  a  fight,  for  fun,  or  the 
regular  faction  one,  at  the  fair,  his  riverence  sometimes 
hears  of  it,  and  comes,  av  coorse." 

"  Good  God  !  "  said  the  traveller,  in  real  astonishment, 
*'  does  the  priest  join  the  battle  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,  sir  !     I  see  you're  quite  a  sthranger  in  the 


22  RORY  O'MORE. 

counthry.  The  priest  join  it !  Oh  !  by  no  manes.  53ut 
he  comes  and  stops  it  ;  and,  av  coorse,  the  only  way  he 
can  stop  it,  is  to  ride  into  thim — scatther  thim  like  cliafl 
before  the  wind  ;  and  it's  the  best  o'  sticks  he  requires  for 
that  same." 

"  But  might  he  not  have  his  heavy  stick  on  purpose  for 
that  service  ;  and  make  use  of  a  lighter  one  on  other  oc- 
casions ? " 

"  As  for  that  matther,  sir,"  said  Rory,  "  there's  no  know- 
in'  the  minit  he  might  want  it,  for  he  is  often  necessitated 
to  have  recoorse  to  it.  It  might  be,  going  through  the 
village,  the  public-house  is  too  full,  and  in  he  goes  and 
dhrives  them  out.  Oh !  it  would  delight  your  heart  to  see 
the  style  he  clears  a  public-house  in,  in  no  time  !  " 

"  But  wouldn't  his  speaking  to  them  answer  the  purpose 
as  well?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  he  doesn't  like  to  throw  away  his  discoorse  on 
thim  ;  and  why  should  he  ? — he  keeps  that  for  the  blessed 
althar  on  Sunday,  which  is  a  fitter  place  for  it :  besides, 
he  does  not  like  to  be  sevare  on  us." 

"  Severe  !  "  said  the  traveller,  in  surprise  ;  '*  why,  haven't 
you  said  that  he  thrashes  you  round  on  all  occasions  ? " 

*' Yis,  sir  ;  but  what  o'that  ? — sure  that's  nothing  to  his 
tongue— his  words  is  like  swoords  or  razhors,  I  may  say  ; 
we're  used  to  a  lick  of  a  stick  every  day,  but  not  to  sich 
language  as  his  rivercnce  sometimes  murthers  us  with 
whin  we  displaze  him.  Oh  !  it's  terrible,  so  it  is,  to  have 
the  weight  of  his  tongue  on  you  !  Troth  !  I'd  rather  let 
him  bate  me  from  this  till  to-morrow,  than  have  one  angry 
word  from  him." 

"  I  see,  then  he  must  have  a  heavy  stick,"  said  the  trav- 
eller. 

"To  be  sure  he  must,  sir,  at  all  times  ;  and  that  was  the 
raison  I  was  so  particular  in  the  shop  ;  and  afther  spendin' 
over  an  hour — would  you  b'lieve  it  ? — divil  a  stick  I  could 
get  in  the  place,  not  for  a  child,  much  less  a  man — all  poor 
contimptible  things  ;  and  so  the  man  I  was  talkin'  to  says 
to  me  at  last,  *  It's  odd  that  in  all  these  sticks  there  is  not 
one  to  plaze  you.'  *  You  know  nothin'  about  it,'  says  I. 
'  You'd  betther  be  off,  and  take  up  no  more  o'  my  time,' 
says  he.  'As  for  your  time,'  says  I,  'I'd  be  sorry  to  idle 
anybody  ;  but  in  the  regard  of  knowin'  a  stick,  I'll  give  up 
to  no  man,'  says  I.  'Look  at  that  !'  says  I,  holdin'  up  my 
own  purty  bit  o'  blackthorn  I  had  in  my  fist.  '  Would  you 
compare  your  owld  batther'd  stick/  says  he — {there  was  a 


RORY   O'MORE.  23 

tew  chips  out  of  it,  for  it  is  an  owld  frind,  as  you  may-  see) 
— 'would  you  compare  it,'  says  he,  'to  this  ?' — holdin'  up 
one  of  his  buh'ushes.  '  By  gor,'  says  I,  'if  you  like  to  thiy 
a  turn  with  me,  I'll  let  you  know  which  is  the  best  !'  says 
I.  '  Vou  know  nothin'  about  it,'  says  he — '  this  is  the  best 
o'  sugar  canes.'  '  By  my  sowl,  thin  !'  says  I,  'you'll  get  rg 
sugar  out  o'  this,  I  promise  you  ! — but  at  the  same  time, 
the  divil  a  sweeter  bit  o'  timber  in  the  wide  world  than 
the  same  blackthorn — and  if  you'd  like  to  taste  it  you  may 
thry.'  '  No,'  says  he,  '  I'm  no  happy  cure' — (or  somethin' 
he  said  about  cure).  '  Thin  if  you're  not  aisy  to  cure,'  says 
I,  'yovi'd  betther  not  fight ;'  which  is  thru — and  some  men 
is  unwholesome,  and  mustn't  fight  by  raison  of  it — and,  in- 
deed, it's  a  great  loss  to  a  man  who  hasn't  flesh  that's  aisy 
to  hale." 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  the  traveller.  "  But  about  the 
gridiron  ?" 

''"Sure  I'm  tellin'  you  about  it,"  said  Rory  ;  "only  I'm 
BOt  come  to  it  yet.  You  see,"  continued  he,  "  I  was  so  dis- 
gusted with  them  shopkeepers  in  Dublin,  that  my  heart 
was  fairly  broke  with  their  ignorance,  and  I  seen  they 
knew  nothin'  at  all  about  what  I  wanted,  and  so  I  came 
away  without  anytliing  for  his  riverence,  though  it  was  on 
my  mind  all  this  day  on  the  road  ;  and  comin'  through  the 
last  town  in  the  middle  o'  the  rain,  I  thought  of  a  grid- 
iron," 

'^  A  very  natural  thing  to  think  of  in  a  shower  o'  rain," 
said  the  traveller. 

*•  No,  'twasn't  the  rain  made  me  think  of  it — I  think  it 
was  God  put  a  gridiron  in  my  heart,  seein'  that  it  was  a 
present  for  the  priest  I  intended  ;  and  when  I  thought  of 
it,  it  came  into  my  head,  afther,  that  it  would  be  a  fine 
thing  to  sit  on,  for  to  keep  one  out  of  the  rain,  that  was 
ruinatin'  my  cordheroys  on  the  top  o'  the  coach  ;  so  I  kept 
my  eyes  out  as  we  dhrove  along  up  the  sthreet ;  and  sure 
enough  what  should  I  see  at  a  shop  half  way  down  the 
town  but  a  gridiron  hanging  up  at  the  door  !  and  so  I  went 
back  to  get  it." 

"  But  isn't  a  gridiron  an  odd  present  ? — hasn't  his  rever- 
ence one  already  ?  " 

'^He  had,  sir,  before  it  was  bruk — but  that's  what  I  re- 
membered, for  I  happened  to  be  up  at  his  place  one  day, 
sittin'  in  the  kitchen,  when  Molly  was  brillin'  some  mate 
an  it  for  his  riverence  ;  and  while  she  jist  turned  about  to 
get  a  pinch  o'  salt  to  shake  over  it,  the  dog  that  was  in  the 


24  JtORY   O'MORE. 

phice  made  a  dart  at  the  gridiron  on  the  fire,  and  threwn  \\ 
down,  and  up  he  whips  the  mate,  before  one  of  iis  couH, 
stop  him.  With  that  Molly  whips  up  the  gridiron,  ani 
says  she,  '  Bad  luck  to  you,  you  disrespectful  baste  !  woul.i 
nothin'  sarve  you  but  the  priest's  dinner?'  and  she  made 
a  crack  o'  the  gridiron  at  him.  'As  you  have  the  matt?, 
you  shall  liave  the  gridiron  too,'  says  she  ;  and  with  that 
she  gave  him  such  a  rap  on  the  head  with  it  that  the  bars 
flew  out  of  it,  and  his  head  went  through  it,  and  away  he 
pulled  it  out  of  her  hands,  and  ran  off  with  the  gridiron 
hangin'  round  his  neck  like  a  necklace — and  he  went  mad 
a'most  with  it  ;  for  though  a  kettle  to  a  dog's  tail  is  nath'- 
ral,  a  gridiron  round  his  neck  is  very  surprisin'  to  him  ; 
and  away  he  tatthered  over  the  country,  till  there  wasn't  ft, 
taste  o'  the  gridiron  left  together." 

"  So  you  thought  of  supplying  its  place  ?  "  said  the  tra^'. 
eller. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Rory.  "I  don't  think  I  could  do  belt 
ther." 

"  But  what  did  you  get  two  for  ? "  said  the  traveller. 

"Why,  sir,  when  I  thought  of  how  good  a  sate  it  wourf 
make,  I  thought  of  you  at  the  same  time." 

"That  was  very  kind  of  you,"  said  the  traveller,  "  morv; 
particularly  as  I  have  done  nothing  to  deserve  such  att^D- 
tion." 

"You'll  excuse  me  there,  sir,  if  you  plaze,"  said  Ro>-y  ; 
"  you  behaved  to  me,  sir,  like  a  gintleman,  and  the  wor.l 
of  civility  is  never  thrown  away." 

"  Every  gentleman,  I  hope,"  said  the  traveller,  "  wouUl 
do  the  same." 

"Every  rale  gintleman,  certainly,"  said  Rory,  "but 
there's  many  o'  them  that  calls  themselves  gintlemin  that 
doesn't  do  the  like,  and  it's  the  stiff  word  they  have  for  us, 
and  the  hard  word  may  be — and  they  think  good  clothes 
makes  all  the  differ,  jist  as  if  a  man  hadn't  a  heart  undher 
a  frieze  coat." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  the  traveller  ;  "but  I  hope 
such  conduct  is  not  common." 

"  Throth  there's  more  of  it  than  there  ought  to  be,"  sai  I 
Rory.  "  But  thim  that  is  the  contrary  is  never  losers  b;' 
it — and  so  by  me  and  you,  sir,  and  sure  it's  a  dirty  dog  I'd 
be,  to  see  the  gintleman  beside  me  sittin'  in  wet,  that  gavtj 
me  a  share  of  his  paraplcw,  and  the  civil  word,  that  is 
v\()rth  more — for  the  hardest  rain  only  wets  the  body,  but 
tuc  hard  word  cuts  the  heart." 


RORY  O'MORE.  2$ 

"1  have  reason  to  be  obliged  to  you,"  said  the  traveller, 
='  and  I  assure  you  I  am  so  ;  but  I  should  like  to  kno\^ 
what  you'll  do  with  the  second  gridiron." 

"  Oh,  I'll  engage  I'll  find  use  for  it,"  said  Rory. 

"Why,  inde"ed,"  said  the  traveller,  "from  the  example 
you  have  given  of  your  readiness  of  invention,  I  should  not 
doubt  that  you  will — for  certainly,  you  have  made,  on  the 
present  occasion,  a  most  original  application  of  the  uten- 
sil." 

"  Faith,  I  daar  say,"  said  Rory,  "  we  are  the  first  mortials 
wor  ever  on  a  gridiron." 

"  Since  the  days  of  St.  Lawrence,"  said  the  traveller. 

"  Why,  used  Saint  Larrence,  God  bless  him  !  sit  on  a 
gridiron  ? "  said  Ror)^ 

"No,"  said  the  traveller;  "but  he  Avas  broiled  upon 
one." 

"  Oh,  the  thieves  o'  the  world  to  brile  him  ! — and  did 
they  ate  him  after,  sir  ?  " 

"No,  no,"  said  the  traveller,  "they  only  broiled  him. 
But  I  thought  you  good  Catholics  all  knew  about  the 
martyrs  ?  " 

"And  so  we  do,  sir,  n-iostly  ;  but  I  never  heerd  of  Saint 
Larrence  afore  ;  or  if  I  did  I'm  disremembered  of  it." 

''But  you  do  know  about  most  of  them,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Oh !  sartinly,  sir.  vSure  I  often  heerd  how  Saint 
Stephen  was  hunted  up  and  down  ;  which  is  the  reason  we 
begin  to  hunt  always  on  Saint  Stephen's  Day." 

"  You  forget  there,  too,"  said  the  traveller :  "  Saint 
Stephen  was  stoned." 

"  To  be  sure,  sir— sure  I  know  he  was  ;  didn't  I  say  they 
run  afther  him  throvvin'  stones  at  him,  the  black-guards ! 
till  they  killed  him— huntin' him  for  his  life? — Oh,  thin 
but  wasn't  it  a  cruel  thing  to  be  a  saint  in  thim  haythen 
times,  to  be  runnin'  the  world  over,  the  poor  marchers,  as 
they  might  well  be  called  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  traveller;  "those  were  days  of  trial  to 
the  saints." 

"  'Faith,  I  go  bail  they  never  gave  them  any  trial  at  all," 
said  Rory,  "but  just  murthered  them  without  judge  or 
jury,  the  vagabones  ! — though,  indeed,  for  the  matther  o' 
that,  neither  judge  nor  jury  will  do  a  man  much  good  while 
there's  false  witnesses  to  be  had  to  swear  what  they're  paid 
for,  and  may  be  the  jury  and  the  judge  only  too  ready  to 
b'lieve  them  ;  and  may  be  a  boy  is  hanged  in  their  own 
minds  before  he's  put  on  his  thrial  at  all,  unless  he  has  a 


26  RORY   O'MORE. 

good  friend  in  some  great  man  who  doesn't  choose  to  ret 
him  die." 

"  Is  it  possible,"  asked  the  traveller,  "  that  they  manage 
matters  here  in  this  way?" 

"  To  be  sure  they  do,  sir  ;  and  why  wouldn't  a  gintleman 
take  care  of  his  people  if  it  was  plazin'  to  him  ? " 

**  It  is  the  laws  and  not  the  gentleman  should  be  held  in 
respect,"  said  the  traveller ;  "  the  poor  man's  life  shouhl 
never  depend  upon  the  rich  man's  pleasure." 


CHAPTER   III. 


A  Peep  into  Ireland  Forty  Years  Ago — Hints  for  Charging  Juries — Every 
Landlord  His  own  Law-giver — Pride  of  Birth — A  Jocular  Prince  on 
Foot,  and  a  Popular  Peer  on  Horseback. 

A  TRAIN  of  musing  on  the  traveller's  part  rapidly  suc- 
ceeded his  last  remark,  and  as  he  went  jolting  along  un- 
consciously over  the  wretched  road,  he  was  mentally  floun- 
dering through  the  deep  ruts  of  political  speculation,  itnd 
looking  forward,  through  the  warm  haze  which  a  young 
imagination  flings  round  its  objects,  to  that  happier  time 
when  Ireland  should  enjoy  a  loftier  position  than  that  im- 
plied by  what  Rory  O'More  had  said.  But,  alas  !  instead  of 
this  brilliant  advent,  blood  and  crime,  and  all  the  fiercer  pas- 
sions that  degrade  human  nature,  making  man  more  like  a 
demon  than  a  human  being,  were  the  futurity  which  Ireland 
was  doomed  to  experience  ;  and  while  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
young  traveller  looked  forward  to  the  heights  where  his  im- 
agination enthroned  his  country's  fortunes,  he  overlooked 
and  saw  not  the  valley  of  blood  that  lay  between. 

And  forty  years  (almost  half  a  century)  have  passed  away 
since  the  young  enthusiast  indulged  in  his  vision,  and  still 
is  Ireland  the  theme  of  fierce  discussion. 

It  was  Rory  O'More's  remark  upon  the  nature  of  judi- 
cial trials  in  Ireland  that  had  started  the  traveller  on  his 
train  of  musing.  An  Irishman  by  birth,  he  had  long  been 
absent  from  his  native  land,  and  was  not  aware  of  its  in- 
ternal details  ;  and  that  such  a  state  of  feudality  as  that 
implied  by  Rory's  observation  could  exist  in  Ireland,  while 
England  enjoyed  the  fullest  measure  of  her  constitution, 
might  well  surprise  him,  but  so  it  was. 

The  period  to  which  this  relates  was  1797,  when  distrust, 


RORY  O'MORE.  sj 

political  prejudice,  and  religious  rancor,  were  the  terrible 
triumvirate  that  assumed  dominion  over  men's  minds.  In 
such  a  state  of  things,  the  temple  of  justice  could  scarcely 
be  called  a  sanctuary,  and  shelter  was  to  be  found  rather 
beneath  the  mantle  of  personal  influence  than  under  the 
ermine  of  the  judge.  Even  to  this  day,  in  Ireland,  feudal 
influence  is  in  existence  ;  but  forty  years  ago,  it  super- 
seded the  laws  of  the  land. 

So  much  was  this  the  case,  that  it  is  worth  recording  an 
anecdote  of  the  period  which  is  fact  ;  the  names  it  is  un- 
necessary to  give. 

A  certain  instance  of  brutal  assault,  causing  loss  of  life, 
had  occurred,  so  aggravated  in  its  character,  that  the  case 
almost  amounted  to  murder,  and  the  offender,  who  stood 
his  trial  for  the  offence,  it  was  expected,  would  be  sen- 
tenced to  transportation,  should  he  escape  the  forfeiture  of 
his  life  to  the  law.  The  evidence  on  his  trial  was  clear 
and  convincing,  and  all  attempts  at  defence  had  failed,  and 
the  persons  assembled  in  the  court  anticipated  a  verdict  of 
guilty  on  the  heaviest  counts  in  the  indictment.  The  pros- 
ecution and  defence  had  closed,  and  the  judge  had  nearly 
summed  up  the  evidence,  and  was  charging  the  jury- 
directly  against  the  prisoner,  when  a  bustle  was  perceived 
in  the  body  of  the  court.  The  judge  ordered  the  crier  to 
command  silence,  and  that  officer  obeyed  his  commands 
without  producing  any  effect.  The  judge  was  about  to 
direct  a  second  and  more  peremptory  command  for  silence, 
when  a  note  was  handed  up  to  the  bench,  and  the  judge 
himself,  instead  of  issuing  his  command  for  silence,  be- 
came silent  himself,  and  perused  the  note  with  great  at- 
tention. He  pursued  his  charge  to  the  jury  no  further, 
but  sent  up  a  small  slip  of  paper  to  the  foreman,  who 
forthwith  held  some  whispered  counsel  with  his  brother- 
jurors  ;  and  when  their  heads,  that  had  been  huddled  to- 
gether in  consultation,  separated,  and  they  resumed  their 
former  positions,  the  judge  then  continued  his  address  to 
them  thus : 

"  I  have  endeavored  to  point  out  to  you,  gentlemen  of 
the  jury,  the  doubts  of  this  case,  but  I  do  not  think  it  nec- 
essary to  proceed  any  further  ;  I  have  such  confidence  in 
your  discrimination  and  good  sense,  that  I  now  leave  the 
case  entirely  in  your  hands  ;  if  you  are  of  opinion  that 
ivhat you  have  beefi  put  in  possession  of  in  the  prisoner's  favf)r 
counterbalances  the  facts  sworn  to  against  him,  you  will 
&f  course  acquit  him — and  any  doubts  you  have,  I   need 


28  RORY  O'MORE. 

nut  tell  yon,  should  be  thrown  into  the  scale  of  mercy.  It 
is  the  proud  pre-eminence,  gentlemen,  of  our  criminal  laws 
—laws,  gentlemen,  which  are  part  and  parcel  of  the  glori- 
ous constitution  that  is  the  wonder  and  the  envy  of  sur- 
rounding nations,  that  a  prisoner  is  to  have  the  benefit  of 
every  doubt  ;  and  therefore,  if  you  think  proper,  of  course 
you  will  find  the  prisoner  not  guilty." 

"Certainly,  my  lord,"  said  the  foreman  of  the  jury,  "we 
are  of  your  lordship's  opinion,  and  we  say  '  not  guilty.'  " 

The  fact  was,  the  great  man  of  the  district  where  the 
crime  had  been  committed,  whose  serf  the  prisoner  was, 
had  sent  up  his  complimaiis  to  the  judge  and  jury,  stating 
i^he  prisoner  to  be  the  most  uscfi/l  person  to  him,  and  that  he 
would  feel  extremely  obliged  if  they  would  acquit  him.  This 
ruffian  Avas  a  sort  of  bold,  sporting,  dare-devil  character, 
whose  services  in  breaking-in  dogs,  and  attending  his  mas- 
ter and  his  parties  on  wild  mountain  shooting  and  fishing 
excursions,  were  invaluable  to  the  squire  ;  and  human  life, 
which  this  fellow  had  sacrificed,  was  nothing  in  the  scale 
when  weighed  against  the  squire's  diversion.  This  will 
scarcely  be  credited  in  the  present  day,  nevertheless  it  is 
a  fact. 

Another  occurrence  of  the  time  shows  the  same  disre- 
gard of  the  law  ;  though  the  case  is  by  no  means  so  bad, 
inasmuch  as  the  man  was  only  taken  up  for  an  offence, 
but  was  not  tried — he  was  only  rescued  to  save  him  that 
trouble.  He  had  committed  some  offence  which  entitled 
him  to  a  lodging  in  the  county  jail,  and  was  accordingly 
t.iken  into  custody  by  the  proper  authorities  ;  but  as  the 
county  town  was  too  distant  to  send  him  to  at  once,  he 
was  handed  over  to  the  care  of  a  military  detachment  that 
occupied  a  small  village  in  the  neighborhood.  To  the 
little  barrack-yard  or  guard-house  of  this  outpost  he  was 
committed  ;  but  he  did  not  remain  there  long,  for  his 
mountain  friends  came  down  in  great  numbers  and  carried 
him  off  in  triumph,  having  forced  the  barracks.  The  mo- 
ment the  colonel  of  the  regiment,  a  detachment  of  which 
occupied  the  post,  received  intelligence  of  the  circum- 
stAnce,  he  marched  the  greater  part  of  his  regiment  to  the 
place,  vowing  he  would  drag  the  prisoner  who  had  been 
committed  to  the  care  of  his  troops  from  tlie  very  heart  of 
the  mountains,  and  that  neither  man,  woman,  nor  child 
should  be  spared  who  dared  to  protect  him  from  capture. 
While  the  colonel,  who  was  an  Englishman,  was  foaming 
with  indignation  at  this  contempt  of  all  order  displayed  by 


RORY   O'MORE.  sq 

the  Irish,  Mr.  French  waited  upon  him  and  asked  him  to 
dinner.  The  English  colonel  said  he  would  be  most 
happy  at  any  other  time,  but  at  present  it  was  impossible  ; 
that  if  he  could,  he  would  neither  eat,  drink,  nor  sleep,  tiU 
he  had  vindicated  the  laws. 

"Pooh,  pooh  !  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  French,  "it  is  all 
very  well  to  talk  about  the  laws  in  England,  but  they 
know  nothing  about  them  here." 

"Then  it's  time,  sir,  they  should  be  taught,"  said  the 
colonel. 

"Well,  don't  be  in  a  Imrrj,  at  least,  my  dear  sir,"  said 
Mr.  French.  "  I  assure  you  the  poor  people  mean  no  dis- 
respect to  the  laws  ;  it  is  in  pure  ignorance  they  have 
made  this  mistake." 

"  Mistake  !  "  said  the  colonel. 

"  Ton  my  soul  !  nothing  more,"  said  Mr.  French  ;  "  and 
if  you  think  to  make  them  wise  at  the  point  of  the  bay- 
onet, you'll  find  yourself  mistaken  ;  you'll  have  the  whole 
country  in  an  uproar,  and  do  no  good  after  all  ;  for  once 
these  fellows  have  given  you  the  slip,  you  might  as  well 
go  hunt  after  the  mountain  goats." 

"But,  consistently  with  my  duty,  sir " 

"Your  duty  will  keep  till  to-morrow,  colonel  dear,  ana 
you'll  meet  three  or  four  other  magistrates,  as  w^ell  as'  me, 
at  my  house,  who  will  tell  you  the  same  that  I  have  done. 
You'll  be  wiser  to-morrow,  depend  upon  it— so  come  home 
with  me  to  dinner." 

The  colonel,  who  was  a, man  of  deliberation,  rode  home 
with  Mr.  French,  who  talked  him  over  as  they  went  along. 
"You  see,  my  dear  sir,  how  is  it  possible  you  should  know 
the  people  as  well  as  we  do  ?  Believe  me,  every  landlord 
knows  his  own  tenantry  best,  and  we  make  a  point  here 
never  to  interfere  with  each  other  in  that  particular.  Now, 
the  fellow  they  took  away  from  your  men " 

"  Curse  them  !  "  said  the  colonel. 

"  Keep  yourself  cool,  my  dear  colonel.  That  fellow,  for 
instance — now  he  is  one  of  Blake's  men  ;  and  if  Blake 
wants  the  fellow  to  be  hanged,  he'll  send  him  in  to 
you." 

"  Send  him  in  ! — why,  sir,  if  my  regiment  could  not  keep 
the  rascal,  what  chance  has  Mr.  Blake  of  making  hin; 
prisoner  ?  " 

'•  I  said  nothing,  colonel,  of  making  him  prisoner  ;  I 
said,  and  still  say,  that  if  Blake  ^vants  him  to  be  hanged, 
he'll  setid  him  i?i." 


30  RORY   O'MORR. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  my  good  sir,  that  hell  desire  liim 
to  come  in  and  be  hanged  ?  " 

"Precisely." 

"  And  ziuV/  he  come  ?  " 

**  Most  undoubtedly,  if  Blake  desires  him." 

The  colonel  dined  with  Mr.  French  that  day;  the  day 
following  the  regiment  was  marched  to  headquarters — 
and  Blake  did  noi  send  in  his  man  to  be  hanged.  So  much 
for  feudality ! 

But  the  young  traveller  knew  not  these  facts,  and  he  was 
awakened  from  the  reverie  in  which  he  was  indulging  by 
the  blowing  of  a  long  tin  horn,  announcing  the  arrival  of 
the  coach  at  a  dirty  little  town,  where  it  was  to  stop  for 
the  night.  It  drove  up  to  what  was  called  a  hotel,  round 
the  door  of  which,  though  still  raining  heavily,  a  crowd  of 
beggars  stood,  so  thick  that  the  passengers  could  hardly 
press  their  way  through  them  into  the  house  ;  and  while 
they  were  thus  struggling  for  admittance,  obstreperous 
prayers  assailed  their  ears  on  all  sides,  in  horrid  discord 
and  strange  variety — for  their  complaints  and  their  bless- 
ings became  so  jumbled  together  as  to  produce  a  ludicrous 
effect.  There  were  blind  and  lame,  broken  bones,  widows 
and  orphans,  etc.,  etc. 

"  Pity  the  blind  !  and  may  you  never  see " 

*'  To-morrow  morning  won't  find  me  alive  if  you  don't 
relieve " 

**  The  guard  will  give  me  something,  your  honor,  if  you'll 
only  bid  him " 

"  Be  quiet,  you  divil !  and  don't  taze  the  gintleman  ! 
Sure  he  has " 

"  Three  fatherless  childher " 

"  And  broke  his  two  legs " 

"  That  is  stone-blind " 

"And  met  a  dhreadful  accident! — and  sure  the  house 
fell  on  him,  and  he's  lyin'  undher  it  these  three  weeks 
without  a  bite  to  ate,  but- 


"  Three  fatherless  childher  and  a  dissolute  widow- 


"  Lying  on  the  broad  of  her  back,  with  nothing  on  her 
but " 

'  The  small-pox,  your  honor  ! " 

'  For  Heaven's  sake,  let  me  pass !  "  said  the  young  tra- 
veller, who  had  a  horror  of  the  small-pox  ;  and  pressing 
through  the  crowd  that  environed  him  into  the  house,  he 
entered  the  first  room  he  saw,  and  suddenly  closed  the 
door  behind  him. 


RORY   O'MORE.  3I 

As  soon,  however,  as  he  recovered  his  first  alarm  at  the 
mention  of  the  terrible  disease  he  so  much  dreaded,  he 
called  for  the  waiter,  and  made  inquiries  for  Rory.  Find- 
ing he  was  in  the  house,  he  sent  him  a  message  to  say  he 
would  be  glad  to  see  him,  and  on  Rory  making  his  appear- 
ance he  requested  him  to  be  seated,  and  asked  him  would 
he  have  something  to  drink  ? 

Rory  declined  it,  until  the  traveller  said  that  he  himself 
would  join  him  in  a  potation  after  their  wetting  ;  and  when 
Rory  understood  that  the  traveller  meant  they  should  sit 
down  together  over  their  glasses,  he  accepted  the  offer 
with  modest  thankfulness,  and  expressed  his  acknowledg- 
ment for  the  honor  done  him  by  his  travelling  companion. 

In  the  course  of  their  conversation,  the  young  traveller 
found,  that  with  all  the  apparent  simplicity  of  Rory,  he 
was  not  deficient  in  intelligence  ;  and  that  the  oddity  of 
the  incidents  in  which  he  had  described  himself  as  being 
an  actor,  arose  more  from  the  novelty  of  his  position  in  a 
large  city,  than  in  any  stupidity,  He  became  possessed 
of  his  name  also,  and  Rory  could  not  help  showing  his 
pride  in  having  one  so  good  ;  for  while  he  affected  to  laugh 
at  his  proud  descent,  it  was  quite  clear  he  had  a  firm  be- 
lief in  it. 

"I  suppose,  sir,  you  have  heard  tell  of  one  Rory  O'More 
m  the  owld  times  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  King  of  Leinster,  you  mean." 

"  So  they  say,  sir — that  he  and  his  people  before  him 
wor  kings  time  out  o'  mind,  until  bad  fortune  came  to 
thim,  and  they  went  to  the  bad  entirely ;  and  the  English 
dhruv  thim  out,  bekaze  they  had  a  way  of  puttin'  between 
people  ;  and  while  they  were  squabblin',  one  with  the 
other,  the  English  used  to  come  in  and  do  them  both  out 
— like  the  owld  story  of  the  lawyer  and  oysthers.  Well, 
when  once  they  were  dhruv  out,  they  went  witherin'  and 
dwindlin'  down  by  degrees  ;  and  at  last  they  hadn't  a  fut 
of  land  left  thim,  nor  even  a  house  over  their  heads  ;  and 
so  we  wor  reduced  that  way,  sir." 

**Then  you  consider  yourself  the  descendant  of  the 
O'More  ? "  said  the  traveller. 

"  Troth,  sir,  and  they  say  that  we  are  the  owld  O'Mores 
— but  sure  I  laugh  at  it." 

"  But  wouldn't  you  be  angrv  if  anyone  else  laughed 
at  it  ? " 

"  I  dunna  but  I  might,"  said  Rory,  with  much  ingenu' 
ousness. 


52  i^ORY  ornroRE. 

"  And  why  6.0  yon  laugh  at  it  tlien  ?" 

"  Why,  afther  all,  sir,  sure  it's  quare  enough  for  a  ma« 
to  be  talking  of  his  great  relations  th^iwas  formerly,  when 
at  this  present  he  is  only  a  poor  workin'  man  ;  and  if  I  was 
ever  so  much  the  thrue  descindant  of  Rory  O'More,  sure  I 
can't  forget  what  I  am  now." 

"You  may  be  the  representative  of  the  house  for  all 
that,"  said  the  traveller. 

"  Oh  !  as  for  the  house,"  said  Rory,  "  'pon  my  sowl ! 
there's  a  cruel  differ  there  betune  us  ;  the  right  Rory 
O'More  lived  in  Dunamaise — ^that  was  something  like  a 
house  !  and  I  have  only  a  poor  cabin  to  live  in." 

*'  But  still  you  may  be  the  true  descendant  of  the  right 
Rory,  as  you  call  him,"  said  the  traveller,  who  wished  to 
probe  the  feelings  of  tlie  peasant  on  this  subject,  and  dis- 
cover how  far  the  pride  of  birth  could  survive  the  loss  of 
itation;  and  he  was  pleased  to  discover  (for  he  was  himself 
of  high  descent)  that  ages  of  misfortune  could  not  extin- 
guish the  fire  of  a  proud  race,  and  he  more  than  ever  felt 
the  truth  of  the  observation,  that  it  is  only  they  who  have 
no  ancestry  to  boast  of  who  affect  to  despise  it. 

To  tiiose,  or  such  as  those  to  whom  ancestral  power  as 
well  as  name  has  descended — or  to  the  many  who  take  no 
pleasure  in  tracing  to  their  secret  sources  the  springs  of 
action  and  feeling  in  the  human  mind  and  heart — it  may 
seem  incredible  that  a  poor  peasant  could  retain  the  pride 
of  birth  when  all  its  substantial  appendages  were  gone  ; 
yet  so  it  was.  But  it  was  a  pride  that  was  unobtrusive. 
Circumstances  had  modified  and  molded  it  to  the  necessi- 
ties of  the  peasant's  station  ;  he  was  respectful  in  his  de- 
meanor to  all  whose  position  in  society  was  better  than  his 
own,  conscious  though  he  might  be  of  their  inferior  blood  ; 
and  while  he  took  off  his  hat  to  some  wealthy  plebeians, 
he  never  considered  the  blood  of  the  O'Mores  to  be  degrad- 
ed. The  fallen  fortunes  of  his  house  were  not  a  subject 
oi personal  regret  to  him  ;  it  was  in  a  national  point  of  view 
they  were  lamented.  That  Ireland  had  lost  her  King  of 
Leinster  he  considered  a  misfortune  ;  but  he  never  for  a 
moment  regretted  that  he,  his  heir,  as  he  believed  himself 
to  be  (and  perhaps  was),  was  obliged  to  eat  potatoes  and 
salt.  But  of  the  fair  fame  of  the  O'More  he  was  as  jeal- 
ous as  their  founder  ;  and  insult,  in  the  remotest  degree, 
roused  the  latent  feelings  of  the  family  pride  in  his 
bosom.  Not  the  great  Rory  himself,  perched  on  his 
castled  crag  of  Dunamaise,  could  be  more  jealous  of  the 


J^OI?Y  O' AT  ORE.  33 

honor  of  his  house  than  his  humble  namesake  in  his 
thatched  cabin. 

The  young  traveller,  it  has  been  already  said,  took  pleas- 
ure in  making  manifest  this  feeling  of  our  hero  ;  and  in 
doing  so,  he  found  that  Rorj  had  a  provincial  as  well  as 
personal  pride  of  ancestry.  The  south,  Rory  protested, 
"  bet  all  Ireland  in  the  regard  of  high  blood." 

"  They  have  good  blood  in  the  north,  too,"  said  the 
traveller. 

"  Oh,  they  may  have  a  thrifle  of  it  ;  it's  not  of  the  rale 
owld  sort — nothing  to  compare  with  us." 

"  Do  you  forget  the  O'Neil  ?  "  said  the  traveller. 

"Oh,  that's  good,  I  don't  deny,"  said  Rory — "  but  one 
swallow  makes  no  summer." 

"  But  I  can  count  more  than  one,"  said  the  traveller, 
"  here's  Talbot,  De  Lacy,  Fitzgerald " 

"  Oh,  murther  !  murther  !  sir — sure  thi??i  is  only  invadh- 
ers,  and  not  the  owld  Irish  at  all.  You  would  never  com- 
pare thtfn  with  the  O'Mores,  the  O'Dempsys,  the  O'Con- 
nells,  the  O'Donaghues,  the  O'Shaughnessys " 

"  Stop,  stop  !  "  said  the  traveller,  who  did  not  know  to 
what  length  this  bread-roll  of  O's  might  extend  ;  "  you 
forget  that  the  head  of  the  Fitzgeralds  is  Duke  of  Lein- 
ster." 

"  But  O'More  was  King  of  Leinster,  sir,  if  you  plaze." 

"  Very  true,  Rory  ;  but  still  the  Geraldines  are  a  noble 
race." 

**  Who  are  they,  sir  ?  " 

"  The  Fitzgeralds." 

*'  Oh,  the  Juke  of  Leinster  you  mane,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Faith,  thin,  to  show  you,  sir,  how  little  we  think  o'  them 
down  in  the  south,  I'll  tell  you  something  that  I  know  is 
a  thruth,  bekase  I  had  it  from  O'Dempsy  himself,  who 
played  the  thrick  an  the  juke  and  said  the  thing  to  him, 
for  he's  a  comical  blade." 

''  Well,  what  is  it  ? " 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,  O'Dempsy  was  comin'  home  from 
Dublin,  and  the  money  was  g^QiXXn^  Jine-d/irawn  with  him, 
and  he  wanted  to  see  if  he  had  enough  left  to  pay  for  the 
coach  home  ;  and,  by  dad,  the  change  was  so  scarce  that 
he  was  obliged  to  hunt  it  up  in  his  pocket  into  the  corner, 
like  a  contriary  cowlt,  before  he  could  lay  howld  of  it  at 
ail ;  and  when  he  did  get  it  into  the  pawn  of  his  fist,  it  was 
a'most  ashamed  to  see  the  light,  it  looked  so  contimptibie. 


34  RORY  O'MORE. 

and  my  bowld  O'Dempsy  seen  the  coach  was  out  o'  the 
question,  or  even  a  lift  in  the  canal  boat,  and  so  he  put  his 
thrust  in  Providence,  and  took  a  big  dhrink  that  night  to 
strengthin  him  for  the  mornin'  ;  and  the  next  day  off  he 
set  home,  with  a  short  stick  in  his  hand  and  a  pair  o'  good 
legs  undher  him  ;  and  he  met  nothing  remarkable  antil  he 
came  to  betune  Kilcock  and  Maynooth  ;  and  it  was  thin 
that  he  heerd  the  thramp  of  horses  gallopin'  afther  him, 
and  he  turned  round  and  seen  three  gintlemen  comin'  up 
in  great  style  :  one  o'  them,  a  fine  full  handsome  man,  the 
picthur  of  a  gintleman,  and  a  fine  baste  undher  him,  and 
the  gintlemin  along  with  him  very  nice  too  ;  one  in  par- 
ticular, a  smart  nate-made  man,  with  fine  bright  eyes  and 
a  smilin'  face,  and  a  green  handkicher  round  his  neck,  and 
a  sportin'  aisy  sate  on  his  horse  ;  and  O'Dempsy  heerd 
him  say,  as  they  drew  up  jist  behind  him,  '  Look  what  a 
fine  step  that  fellow  has  ! '  (manin'  O'Dempsy  ;  and,  in- 
deed, a  claner  boy  isn't  in  all  Ireland  than  himself,  and  can 
walk  with  any  man).  So  when  they  came  up  to  him,  the 
small  gintleman  said  '  God  save  you  ! '  '  God  save  you 
kindly,  sir  ! '  says  O'Dempsy.  '  You  don't  let  the  grass 
grow  undher  your  feet,  my  man,'  says  the  gintleman.  *  Nor 
corn  neither,  sir,'  says  Dempsy.  '  So  I  see  by  the  free  step 
you  have,'  says  the  gintleman,  laughin'  ;  and  the  others 
laughed  too,  the  full  gintleman  in  particular  ;  and  says  he, 
*  Well,  Ned,  you  got  your  answer.' 

"  Now  the  minit  that  O'Dempsy  heerd  the  word  '  Ned/ 
and  it  bein'  in  the  neighborhood  of  Cartown,  which  is  the 
Juke  o'  Leinsther's  place,  the  thought  jumped  into  his  head 
that  it  was  Lord  Edward  Fitzgeral'  was  in  it  ;  for  he  always 
heerd  he  was  small,  and  handsome,  and  merry,  and  that 
the  juke  his  brother  was  a  fine-lookin'  man  ;  and  so  with 
that  he  made  cock-sure  in  his  own  mind  that  the  full  gin- 
tleman was  the  Juke  o'  Leinsther,  and  the  little  one  Lord 
Edward.  So  hearin'  that  Lord  Edward  liked  a  joke, 
O'Dempsy  never  let  on  to  suspect  who  they  wor,  and  they 
walked  along  beside  him,  and  had  a  great  dale  o'  discoorse 
and  jokin',  and  the  answers  passin'  bethune  them  as  fast  as 
hops.  At  last  says  the  juke  (for  it  was  himself),  'You're  a 
very  merry  fellow,'  says  he  ;  '  where  do  you  come  from  ? ' 
'  From  Dublin,  sir,'  says  O'Dempsy.  *  Oh,  I  know  that  by 
the  road  you're  goin','  says  the  juke  ;  *  but  I  mane  where  is 
your  place  ?'  '  Faith  and  I  have  no  place,'  says  O'Dempsy; 
'  1  wish  I  had.'  '  That's  a  touch  ^iV you  ;'  says  the  juke  to 
the  third  gintleman,  whoever  he  was.    *  But  where  are  you 


RORY   O'MORE.  35 

goin' to  ? '  says  the  juke.  'I'm  goin'  home,  sir ! '  says 
O'Dempsy.  '  And  where  are  you  when  you  're  at  home  ?' 
says  the  juke.  '  Faith  I'm  at  home  everywhere,'  says 
O'Dempsy. 

*'  Well,  Lord  Edward  laughed  at  his  brother,  seein'  he 
couldn't  force  a  sthraight  answer  out  of  O'Dempsy.  *  Will 
you  tell  me  thin,'  says  the  juke,  'which  are  you — Ulsther, 
Leinsther,  Munsther,  or  Connaught  ? '  '  Leinsther,  sir,' 
says  O'Dempsy,  though  it  was  a  lie  he  was  tellin'  ;  but  it 
was  on  purpose,  to  have  a  laugh  agin  the  juke,  for  he  was 
layin'  a  thrap  for  him  all  the  time.  '  You  don't  spake  like 
a  Leinsther  man,'  says  the  juke.  '  Oh,  the  tongue  is  very 
desaitful  sometimes,'  says  O'Dempsy. 

"  Lord  Edward  laughed  at  his  brother  agin,  and  said, 
he'd  make  no  hand  of  him.  '  By  gor,'  says  Lord  Edward, 
'  that  fellow  would  bate  Counsellor  Curran  ! '  '  Well,  I'll 
thry  him  once  more,'  says  the  juke  ;  and  with  that  says  he 
to  O'Dempsy,  '  What's  your  name  ? '  Now  that  was  all 
O'Dempsy  wanted  for  to  nick  him  ;  and  so  says  he,  '  My 
name  is  O'Shaughnessy,  sir.'  'I've  cotch  you  now,'  says 
the  juke  ;  '  you  can't  be  a  Leinsther  man,  with  that  name.' 
*  Faith,  I  see  you're  too  able  for  me,  sir,'  says  O'Dempsy, 
lading  him  on.  '  Well,  Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,'  says  the  juke, 
'  it's  somewhere  out  of  Munsther  you  come  ?'  '  No  'faitl\ 
sir,'says  O'Dempsy,  '  I  am  a  Leinsther  man  in  airnest  ;  but 
I  see  you  couldn't  be  desaived  about  the  name,  and  so  Di 
tell  you  the  thruth,  and  nothin'  but  the  thruth  about  it.  I 
am  a  Leinsther  man,  but  I  wint  to  live  in  Munsther,  and  \ 
was  obleeged  to  change  my  name,  bekaze  they  had  no  re> 
spect  forme  therewith  the  one  I  had.'  'And  what  wa? 
your  name  ?'  says  the  juke.  '  My  name  was  Fitzjarl',  sir,' 
says  O'Dempsy,  '  but  they  thought  me  only  an  upstart  down 
in  Munsther,  so  I  changed  it  into  O'Shaughnessy.'  With 
that  the  juke  and  Lord  Edward  laughed  out  hearty,  and 
the  third  gintleman  says  to  the  juke,  '  I  think  youve  got 
your  hit  now.'  Well,  sir,  the  juke  pulled  a  guinea  out  of 
his  pocket,  and  put  it  into  O'Dempsy's  hand,  and  says  to 
him,  laughin',  '  Take  that,  you  merry  rascal,  and  dhrink 
my  health  ! '  '  Long  life  to  your  grace  !  '  says  O'Dempsy, 
taking  off  his  hat,  ^you  desarve  to  be  an  G Shaughnessy !  ' 
'  More  power  to  you,  Paddy  ! '  says  Lord  Edward,  as  they 
put  spurs  to  their  horses  ;  and  away  they  powdhered  down 
the  road  laughin'  like  mad." 

The  young  traveller  enjoyed  Rory's  anecdote  excessively, 
and  scarcely  knew  which  to  admire  most — the  impudent 


36  HORY  O'MORE. 

waggery  of  Rory's  friend,  or  the  good  humor  of  the  Duke 
of  Leinster  and  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald. 

After  much  praise  of  the  latter,  and  some  other  strange 
odds  and  ends  from  Rory,  the  travellers  separated  for  the 
night. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Journey  Continued — Desultory  Coach  Conversation,  in  which  the  Liberty 
of  "  the  Press  "  is  Discussed,  and  the  Thistle  Declared  to  be  not  In- 
digenous to  Ireland — Arguments  and  Coaches  liable  to  Break  Down 
— Hints  for  Keeping  Hounds,  etc.,  etc. 

On  the  following  morning  the  coach  resumed  its  jour- 
ney, and  Rory  and  the  stranger  still  continued  fellow- 
tiavellers. 

The  insolent  aggressor  upon  Rory,  as  well  as  the  pas- 
senger who  sat  beside  him,  did  not  appear ;  but  their 
places  were  occupied  by  a  person  to  whom  Rory  touched 
his  hat  as  he  took  his  seat,  and  another  who  seemed  to  be 
his  companion.  The  latter  was  decidedly  a  Scotchman; 
what  the  other  might  be,  it  was  not  so  easy  to  decide — 
perhaps  North  of  England. 

He  addressed  Rory,  and  expressed  surprise  at  seeing 
him. 

"Throth,  and  it's  jist  as  little  I  expected  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Scrubbs,"  said  Rory. 

"  I  was  up  here  on  a  little  business,"  said  Scrubbs. 

"  That's  what  you're  always  up  to,  Mr.  Scrubbs,"  an- 
swered Rory. 

"  And  you'xQ  just  as  ready  for  fun,  Rory.  I  suppose 
'twas  that  brought  you  here  ? " 

"  No,  indeed,  sir — it  was  the  coach  brought  me  here 
yesterday." 

"Ay,  ay — there  you  are  at  your  answers  !  I  suppose  it 
was  in  Dublin,  then,  you  would  be  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  I  wouldn't  be  if  I  could  help  it." 

"  Well,  but  you  were  there  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  was." 

"And  what  business  had  you  in  Dublin  ?" 

"About  the  lease  of  the  place  below." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  I'd  see  about  that  when  the  agent 
«ame  down  ? " 

"  Why,  you  wor  seein'  about  it  so  long  that  I  thought  it 


RORY  O'MORE.  37 

might  be  out  o'  sight  at  last,  and  so  I  wint  myself  to  the 
head  agent,  and  settled  it  at  wanst." 

Scrubbs  did  not  seem  well  pleased  at  this  information  ; 
and  silence  having  ensued  in  consequence,  Rory  took  from 
his  pocket  a  newspaper  and  began  to  read.  For  some  time 
Scrubbs  cast  suspicious  glances  at  the  paper,  till  at  last, 
when  Rory  turned  over  its  front  page  and  discovered  the 
title  of  the  Press,  Scrubbs  could  no  longer  remain  silent. 

"  I  wonder  you're  not  ashamed,"  said  Scrubbs. 

"  Of  what  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"To  read  that  paper." 

"  Faith,  I'd  be  more  ashamed  if  I  cotildn't  read  it,"  said 
Rory. 

"  Why,  it's  all  sedition,  and  treason,  and  blasphemy." 

"What's  blasphemy  ?"  said  Rory. 

'"Tis  a  word,"  said  the  young  traveller,  "that  some  peo» 
pie  always  join  to  treason  and  sedition." 

Scrubbs  gave  a  look  askance  at  the  last  speaker  ;  bur. 
seeing  he  was  a  gentleman  and  rather  better  dressed  that* 
himself,  he  made  no  observation  to  him,  but  said  in  con- 
tinuance to  Rory — "  I  always  thought  you  were  of  the 
peaceable  and  well-disposed  class,  O'More,  and  I'm  sorr)r 
to  see  you  read  that  desperate  paper." 

"  Faith,  it's  very  desperate,  sure  enough,  if  it  be  thrue 
what  they  say  here,  that  bank-notes  will  be  soon  wortli 
nothin',  and  wont  bring  a  penny  a  pound  in  a  snufl(« 
shop." 

"What's  that  but  treason,  I'd  like  to  know,"  said 
Scrubbs — "  endeavoring  to  undermine  the  government  ?" 

"  Sairtainly,"  said  the  Scotchman,  "  it  is  varra  bad  to  d©' 
stroy  the  cawnfidence  in  pooblic  creydit," 

"  I  dar  say,  sir,"  said  Rory  to  the  Scotchman,  ^^ you  would 
rather  have  bank-notes  than  golden  guineas  ?  " 

"I  did  na  say  that,"  said  the  Scotchman,  dryly;  "but 
bank-notes  are  a  sufficient  security." 

"  And  they  say  here,"  said  Rory,  "  that  we  oughtn't  to 
dhrink  tay  nor  coffee,  nor  take  snuff,  nor  smoke  tobacky, 
nor  dhrink  whiskey." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  that  ? "  said  Scrubbs. 

"  'Faith,  I  think  thim  that  has  no  money  will  follow  their 
advice,"  said  Rory. 

'•Ay  !  but  look  at  the  villainous  intention — to  injure  th€ 
revenue,  or  produce  a  rebellion." 

"  You  think,  then,"  said  the  traveller,  "  that  people  must 
either  smell  snuff  or  gunpowder,  whether  they  will  or  no  ?  " 


38  RORY  O'MORE. 

"  I  know,  sir,  they'll  have  gunpowder  enough  if  it  goes 
to  that.  We  have  plenty  of  loyal  men  to  put  down  sedi- 
tion, both  militia  and  yeomanry." 

"Which  you  can't  trust,"  said  the  traveller. 

"  Do  you  doubt  their  loyalty,  sir  ? "  said  Scrubbs,  waxing 
rather  angry. 

"  It  would  seem  the  government  does,"  said  the  traveller, 
'■'■  for  whole  regiments  of  yeomanry  have  been  disbanded 
this  year." 

This  was  a  bitter  truth  to  Scrubbs,  who  not  being  able 
to  deny  the  fact,  returned  to  the  charge  upon  the  Press. 

"As  for  that  vile  paper,  they  would  do  right  to  serve  it 
as  the  Northern  Star  was  served  the  other  day,  when  the 
Donegal  militia,  God  bless  them,  broke  open  their  office, 
burned  their  papers,  and  broke  their  printing-presses." 

"  What  noble  and  constitutional  work  for  soldiers  to  be 
employed  upon!"  said  the  traveller.  "I  do  not  wonder 
when  the  cloth  is  so  degraded,  tliat  high-minded  gentle- 
men, such  as  the  Duke  of  Leinster,  Lord  O'Neil,  and 
Colonel  Connolly,  resign  their  regiments." 

This  was  another  bitter  fact  to  which  Scrubbs  was  un- 
able to  reply  ;  so,  leaving  the  field  in  possession  of  the 
enemy,  he  addressed  his  Scotch  friend  on  some  fresh  sub- 
ject, and  thus  evaded  the  discussion. 

The  traveller  with  Rory,  and  Scrubbs  with  the  Scotch- 
man, now  kept  themselves  distinct,  and  the  day  was  pass- 
ing away  slowly  enough,  the  monotony  of  the  road  only 
broken  by  some  occasional  remark  between  Scrubbs  and 
his  friend,  or  the  young  traveller  and  Rory  ;  seeming  to 
observe  each  other  with  mutual  distrust,  a  restraint  was 
put  upon  general  conversation,  and  it  was  only  some  pass- 
ing observation  on  the  surrounding  scenery  that  eitlier 
party  would  venture  to  indulge  in. 

The  day  was  more  than  half  spent,  when  they  were  driv- 
ing through  a  fine  tract  of  country,  which  called  forth  the 
Scotchman's  admiration. 

"  A  fine  kintra,  this,  Mr.  Scrubbs,"  said  he. 

*'  Yes,"  said  Scrubbs,  "  tis  a  good  sort  of  country,  but  not 
fit  to  compare  with  England." 

Rory  looked  indignantly  at  him,  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  dinnaken  aboot  England,"  said  the  Scotchman  ;  "  but 
this  kintra  puts  me  varra  much  in  mind  o'  my  ain." 

"  Your  kinthry,  do  you  say  ? "  said  Rory,  witli  what 
heroines  call  "  ineffable  contempt." 

"Yes.  my  kintra." 


RORY   O'MORE.  39 

"  Oh,  do  you  hear  this  !  "  said  Rory  to  the  young  traveller. 
"  He  is  comparin'  this  counthry  to  his  !  Why,  'tare  an 
ouns  !  sir,"  said  Rory  to  the  Scotchman,  "  sure  you  wouldn't 
be  comparin'  this  lovely  fine  counthry  to  Scotland — or 
sayin'  it  was  like  it  ? " 

"  Yes,  but  I  would,  though,"  said  the  Scotchman,  pertina- 
ciously. 

''  Why,  by  the  seven  blessed  candles,  you  haven't  seen  a 
Viistle  for  the  last  tin  miles  !  "  said  Rory. 

The  young  traveller  laughed  at  Rory's  illustration,  and 
the  silence  and  disunion  of  the  two  parties  increased. 

Thus  the  day  wore  on  uncomfortably  enough,  and  the 
evening  began  to  close,  when  a  premature  stop  was  put  to 
their  journey  by  the  breaking  down  of  the  coach. 

Fortunately  for  the  passengers,  the  accident  was  not  one 
that  placed  them  in  any  danger.  Some  of  them  were  ?iear/y 
thrown  off,  and  a  lady  passenger  who  was  inside  screamed, 
of  course  ;  and  the  more  she  was  assured  that  there  was 
no  danger,  the  louder  she  screamed.  In  the  meanwhile, 
the  passengers  jumped  off  ;  and  the  extreme  amount  of 
damage  to  them  was,  that  they  could  proceed  no  farther 
by  the  coach  on  their  journey  as  one  of  the  wheels  was 
broken. 

Now,  whenever  an  accident  of  this  kind  occurs  which  is 
manifestly  so  bad  as  to  be  beyond  retrieving,  it  may  be  re- 
marked that  everyone  looks  at  it  in  all  possible  ways — 
under  it,  and  over  it,  and  round  it,  just  as  if  looking  at  it 
could  do  any  good.  So  were  the  passengers  congregated 
round  the  wheel  of  the  coach,  all  making  their  remarks. 

"  It  was  the  nave,"  said  one. 

"  No — the  spokes,"  said  another. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no — the  tire,"  added  a  third. 

"  Most  provoking  !  " 

"  Scandalous  !  "  said  Scrubbs  ;  "  like  everything  else  in 
this  country  !  The  proprietors  ought  to  be  prosecuted  for 
having  a  coach  in  such  a  condition." 

"  Murther,  murther  ! "  said  the  coachman,  who  lost  his 
temper  at  last  when  the  honor  of  his  coach  was  concerned  ; 
"  do  you  hear  this  !  just  as  if  an  accident  never  happened 
to  a  coach  before." 

"  When  people  pay  their  money,"  said  Scrubbs,  "  they 
have  a  right  to  complain." 

"  Sairtainly,"  said  the  Scotchman.  "  In  fac',  I  thenk  the 
money  should  be  refunded." 

*  Arrah  !  listen  to  hina  !  "  said  Rory  aside  to  the  stranger. 


40  RORY  O-'MORE. 

"  How  far  is  the  coach  from  the  end  of  the  journey  ?  * 
said  the  lady. 

"  'Pon  my  word,  ma'am,"  said  Rory,  "  the  coach  is  at  the 
end  of  its  journey  for  this  day,  anyhow." 

"  And  what  are  we  to  do  ?  "  said  the  lady. 

"  I'd  adveyse,"  said  the  Scotchman,  "that  we  should  get 
poost-chaises,  and  charge  them  to  the  coach  propreytors." 

"  Faith,  that's  a  fine  plan,  if  you  could  get  thein"  said  Rory. 

"  Then  what  are  we  to  do  ? "  said  the  lady,  again. 

"  If  you'd  be  quiet  the  laste  taste,  ma'am,  if  you  plaze," 
said  the  coachman,  "we'll  conthrive  some  conthrivance 
by  and  by." 

"Why,  the  night  is  falling,"  said  the  lady. 

"  It's  time  for  it,"  said  Rory. 

"  My  God  !  "  said  the  lady,  "  what  odd  answers  these 
Jjeople  give  one  !  " 

The  horses  became  restless,  for  the  wheelers,  pulling, 
and  finding  so  much  resistance,  began  to  kick,  and  their 
example  set  the  leaders  going  ;  the  coachman  and  Rory 
ran  to  their  heads. 

"  Bad  luck  to  you,  you  fools  !  "  said  Rory  to  the  horses, 
"  sure  it's  glad,  and  not  sorry,  you  ought  to  be,  that  the 
iilirag  is  off  o'  you  ;  be  quite  !  you  garrans,  will  you  !  "  and 
he  forced  them  at  last  into  some  obedience.  "  I'll  tell  you 
what  you'll  do  now,"  said  he  to  the  coachman  ;  "  jist  take 
\^ff  the  horses — they'll  be  quite  enough  here,  grazing  by 
the  side  o'  the  gripe  ;*  and  you  get  on  one  o'  them,  and 
^lelt  away  into  the  town,  and  come  out  again  wid  a  fresh 
<,oach." 

"Troth,  and  it's  the  best  plan,  I  b'lieve,"  said  the  coach- 
man, "  afther  all." 

"  And  must  we  stay  here  ? "  said  the  lady. 

"  Barrin'  you  walk,  ma'am." 

"  And  how  far  might  it  be  to  walk  ?  " 

"  Faith,  I  don't  rightly  know,"  said  the  coachman. 

"  You're  a  feyne  driver,"  said  the  Scotchman,  "not  to 
know  the  distance  on  your  ain  road." 

"  I  know  it  well  enough  whin  I'm  dhrivin',"  said  the 
coachman  ;  "  but  how  am  I  to  know  how  far  it  is  to  walk  ?  " 

"Why,  you  stupid  rascal  !"  said  the  Scotchman,  about 
to  make  an  elaborate  argument  to  show  the  coachman  the 
bull  he  had  made — but  he  was  interrupted  by  Rory. 

"Arrah!  never  mind  his  prate,  Hoolaghan  ;  do  what  I 
bid  you — away  wid  you  into  town  !  " 

*  The  ditch. 


RORY  O'MORE.  41 

"  Indeed,  I  think  'tis  the  best  thing  you  can  do,"  said  (he 
young  traveller. 

"  And  must  ive  stay  here  ?  Why,  'tis  growing  dark  al- 
ready, and  we  may  be  murdered  while  you  are  away." 

"  Divil  a  one  'ill  take  the  throuble  to  murder  you — don't 
be  in  the  least  afear'd  !  "  said  Rory.  "  Up  wid  you  now  on 
the  gray,  Hoolaghan,  and  powdher  away  like  shot ! " 

"  What's  that  he's  saying,  sir,  about  powder  and  shot  ? " 
said  the  lady,  in  alarm. 

''  He's  only  giving  directions  to  the  coachman,  madam," 
said  the  young  traveller. 

"  But  he  said  powder  and  shot  !  sir  ;  is  there  any  dan- 
ger  ? " 

"  None  in  the  least,  I  assure  you,  madam." 

"The  horses  'ill  stay  quite  enough  while  you're  gone," 
said  Rory.  "here,  gi'  me  your  fut — I'll  lift  you  on  the 
baste."  And  so  saying,  Hoolaghan  placed  his  left  foot  in 
Rory's  right  hand ;  and  thus  aided,  he  sprung  astride  of 
one  of  the  coach-horses. 

"There  now,"  said  Rory;  "you're  up!  and  away  wid 
you  !  Jist  be  into  the  town  in  no  time,  and  back  in  less. 
'That's  the  cut!'  says  Cutty,  when  he  cut  his  mothers 
throat." 

"  What's  that  he's  saying,  sir,  about  cutting  throats  1 "' 
said  the  lady. 

"  Nothing,  madam,  I  assure  you,  you  need  be  alarmed 
at,"  said  the  traveller. 

"  Indeed,  you  need  not  make  yourself  onaisy,  ma'am,  in 
the  laste,"  said  Rory,  after  he  had  placed  Hoolaghan  on 
horseback.     "  It  will  be  all  over  with  you  soon,  now." 

The  lady  shuddered  at  the  phrase,  but  spoke  not. 

"  And  now,  sir,"  said  Rory  to  his  fellow-traveller,  "  it's 
time  we  should  be  thinking  of  ourselves  ;  there's  no  use 
you  should  be  loitherin'  here,  until  the  other  coach  comes 
back  ;  for  though  it's  some  miles  from  the  town,  where,  I 
suppose,  you  were  goin'  to,  it's  not  far  from  this  where  I 
must  turn  ofif  to  my  own  place,  which  lies  acrass  the  coun- 
thry,  about  two  miles  or  thereaway  ;  and  if  you,  sir, 
wouldn't  think  it  beneath  you  to  come  to  a  poor  man's 
house,  sure  it's  proud  I'd  be  to  give  your  honor  a  bed  ; 
and  though  it  may  not  be  as  good  as  you're  used  to,  sti  1 
may  be  'twill  be  betther  than  stoppin'  here  by  the  roaci- 
side." 

The  traveller  expressed  his  thanks  to  Rory  for  the  kind- 
ness of  his  offer,  but  said  that,  perhaps,  he  could  as  well 


42  RORY  O'MORE. 

walk  to  tlic  town.  To  this  Rory  objected,  suggesting  the 
probability  of  the  traveller's  losing  his  way,  as  he  could 
only  be  his  guide  as  far  as  the  point  where  he  had  to  turn 
toward  his  own  home  ;  besides  many  other  arguments 
urged  on  Rory's  part  with  so  much  heart  and  cordiality, 
that  he  prevailed  on  his  fellow-traveller  to  accept  his  prof- 
fered hospitality.  Selecting  a  small  portmanteau  from  the 
lueeasfe,  the  traveller  was  about  to  throw  it  over  his  shoul- 
der,  when  Rory  laid  hold  of  it,  and  insisted  on  carrying  it 
for  him. 

"  You've  your  own  luggage  to  carry  !  "  said  the  travel- 
ler. 

"  Sure,  mine  is  nothin'  more  than  a  small  bundle — no 
weight  in  life." 

"  And  your  gridirons,  Rory  ?  " 

*'  By  the  powers  !  I  was  near  forgettin'  fhim,"  said  Rory  ; 
*'  but  sure,  thim  itself  is  no  weight,  and  I  can  carry  them 
all ! " 

"  Stay  a  moment,"  said  the  traveller,  whose  gallantry 
forbade  that  he  should  leave  the  lady  of  the  party,  alarmed 
as  she  was,  in  such  a  situation,  and  apparently  not  regu- 
larly protected,  without  the  offer  of  his  services.  He  ap- 
proached the  coach  into  which  the  lady  had  retired  to 
avoid  the  dew  that  was  now  falling  heavily,  and  made  his 
offer  with  becoming  courtesy. 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  said  she,  "but  I  have 
my  husband  here." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  a  miserable-looking  little  man, 
who  had  not  uttered  a  word  before  :  "  I  am  this  lady's 
husband."     He  did  not  dare  to  say  "This  lady's  my  wife." 

The  traveller  made  his  bow,  and  he  and  his  guide  leav- 
ing the  forlorn  coach-passengers  on  the  road,  proceeded 
at  a  smart  pace  toward  the  cottage  of  Rory  O'Mpre. 

"Those  people,  I  think,  are  likely  to  remain  a  good 
while  before  assistance  can  reach  them,"  said  the  traveller. 

"  'Faith,  I'm  thinkin'  myself  they'll  have  a  good  long 
wait  of  it,"  said  Rory;  "and  in  troth  I'm  not  sorry  for 
some  of  thim." 

"  Don't  you  pity  that  unfortunate  woman  ?" 

"  Sorra  much,"  said  Rory;  "tlic  screechin'  fool,  with 
her  shoutin'  about  her  throat  bein'  cut !— though,  indeed, 
if  it  was  cut  itself,  it  wouldn't  be  miicii  matther,  for  all  the 
sinse  I  heard  her  spake.  Tiiroat  cut,  indeed  !  as  if  the 
whole  counthry  was  murtherers  and  moroders.  In  troth 
the  counthry  would  be  ouite  (quiet)  enough  if  they'd  let 


RORY   O'MORE. 


43 


U5  be  quite  ;  but  it's  gallin'  and  aggravatiii  us  they  are  at 
every  hand's  turn,  and  puttin'  the  martial  law  on  us,  and 
callin'  us  bad  names,  and  abusin'  our  blessed  religion." 

"  And  are  the  people  much  dissatisfied  at  this  state  of 
things  ? " 

"  Why,  I  don't  see  how  they  could  be  plazed,  sir !  And 
sure,  my  heart  warmed  to  you  whin  you  gave  that  dirty 
Scrubbs  his  answer  to-day ';  'faith  he  got  his  fairin'  any- 
how from  you  ;  he  had  no  chance  at  all  with  you,  sir. 
Oh,  when  you  silenced  him,  sure  it  was  butther  to  my 
bones ! " 

"  By  the  by,  who  is  that  person  ?  "  said  the  traveller. 

"  He  is  a  fellow  that  lives  not  far  from  this,  sir — they 
call  him  the  collecthor." 

"  Collector  of  what  ?  " 

"  Of  eveiything,  'faith.  He  collects  tithes  for  the  par- 
son, and  rints  for  the  agint,  and  taxes  and  cess,  and  all  to 
that  and  so  he  goes  by  the  name  of  the  collecthor." 

"  He's  not  an  Irishman  ?" 

"No,  thank  God,  he's  not.  Though,  indeed,  there's 
some  of  the  Irish  bad  enough  to  their  own,  or  worse  than 
sthrangers  may  be  ;  but  I  say,  thank  God,  bekase  there's 
one  blackguard  the  less  belongs  to  us." 

*'  Has  he  been  long  here  ?  " 

"  Not  to  say  very  long  indeed  considherin'  all  he  has 
done  for  himself  in  the  time.  I  remember,  whin  he  came 
among  us  first,  it  was  with  some  horses — a  sort  of  low 
stable-helper,  a  kind  of  hanger-on  about  some  officers  that 
was  in  the  town,  and  thin  he  was  badly  off  enough.  He 
hadn't  as  much  clothes  on  him  as  would  scour  a  spit  ;  and 
his  flesh,  the  little  he  had  of  it,  hangin'  about  him  as  if  it 
didn't  fit  him.  But  he  vvint  to  church  the  first  Sunday  he 
was  here,  and  as  Protestants  is  scarce,  he  was  welkim  to 
the  parson  ;  and  so  that  he  might  not  disgrace  the  congre- 
gation, the  parson  gev  him  some  dacent  clothes  ;  and  thin 
he  got  him  to  do  odd  jobs  for  him,  one  way  or  other  ;  and 
so  he  made  himself  plazin'  somehow  to  the  parson,  and  got 
on  one  step  afther  another.  And  the  parson  noticed  him 
to  the  squire,  and  thin  the  squire  gave  him  a  lift,  for  he  it 
was  got  him  to  be  collecthor  ;  and  now  he  has  a  mighty 
snug  house,  and  a  nate  farm  nigh  hand  to  the  parson, 
tliuugh  the  first  place  he  slep'  in,  not  long  ago,  when  he 
came  to  the  town  beyant,  was  in  the  hayloft  of  the  inn,  for 
ihey  wouldn't  dirty  the  barrack-stables  with  him." 

"  Then  the  parson  is  his  patron  ?  " 


44  RORY   O'MORE. 

"  Not  only  the  parson,  but  the  magisthrits  about  the 
place  as  well,  for  they  know  that  Squire  Ransford  notices 
him." 

"  How  did  he  get  into  the  squire's  good  graces  ?" 

"There  was  a  cast-off  lady  of  the  squire's,  that  was 
throublesome  to  him,  and  so  he  gev  some  soft  discourse, 
and  hard  cash,  too,  I  b'lieve,  to  Scrubbs,  to  make  an  hon- 
est woman  of  her,  and  take  her  off  his  hands  ;  and  so  he 
did  ;  and  now  you'll  see  her  goin'  in  her  jantin'  car,  if  you 
plaze,  along  wid  that  mane-spirited  dog  that  tuk  another 
man's  lavings,  marchiu'  into  church  every  Sunday  as  bowld 
as  brass,  and  wid  as  many  ribbons  on  her  as  would  set  up 
a  thravellin'  pedler." 

"  And  what  does  the  parson  say  to  all  this  ?  Does  he 
countenance  the  affair  ? " 

"  Arrah,  what  can  he  do,  sir  ?  "  said  Rory.  "  Sure,  /le 
can't  help  if  she  was  unproper  ;  and  isn't  it  betther  she'd 
go  to  our  duty  than  stay  away,  bad  as  she  is  ?  And  sure, 
if  she  is  a  sinner,  that's  the  greater  the  reason  why  he'd  be 
glad  to  help  her  in  mendin'  her  ways  ;  and  sure,  as  she 
hasn't  the  luck  to  be  a  Roman,  it's  well  for  her  she's  even 
a  Protestant." 

''That's  a  very  charitable  view  of  the  matter  on  your 
part,"  said  the  traveller. 

"Oh,  by  dad,  sir!  you  mustn't  be  too  hard  on  the  par- 
son, for  he's  a  decent  man  enough.  If  all  the  Protestants 
were  as  quite  (quiet)  as  him,  we've  never  fall  out  wid  him, 
for  he's  a  nice  aisy  man,  and  is  good  friends  wid  Father 
Kinshela,  and  both  o'  thim  dines  together  wid  the  squire 
whin  he's  here.     And  you  know,  sir,  that's  hearty." 

"  Very,  indeed,"  said  the  traveller.  "  I'm  glad  to  hear 
it." 

"  Scrubbs  himself  is  a  nasty  fellow  ;  and  his  /ady  is  a  da^, 
and  nothin'  else  ;  but  sure  the  parson  can't  help  that,  and 
I  wouldn't  expect  of  him  to  be  a  too  particular  on  thim, 
for  sure  he  must  be  glad  to  get  a  Protestant  at  all  in  his 
church,  where  they  are  so  scarce.  Throth,  it  must  be  cowld 
work  there  in  a  big  ramblin'  church  in  the  winther,  wid  so 
few  in  it,  to  be  sayin'  prayers  ! " 

"You  seem  to  like  the  parson,  I  think  ? "  said  the  trav- 
eller. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mislike  him,  sir;  for  he's  civil  spoken,  and 
a  hearty  man,  and  he  likes  huntin'  and  shootin',  and  divar- 
sliin  of  all  sorts." 

"  But  do  you  think  that  becoming  in  a  clergymaa  ?" 


RORY   OWrORE.  45 

"  Oh,  you're  too  hard  on  the  clars^,  sir — why  wouldn't 
they  be  merry? — sure,  Father  Kinshela  himself  sometimes 
takes  a  dart  afther  the  dogs,  whin  the  squire  is  down  here, 
as  well  as  the  parson." 

"  Squire  Ransford,  then,  lives  here  a  good  deal  ?" 

*'  Not  a  good  dale,  sir — only  by  times  whin  he  comes 
down  to  take  a  start  huntin'  or  shootin',  and  thin  he  brings 
down  a  power  o'  company  Avid  him  ;  but  unless  at  that 
time,  the  place  is  like  a  wildherness,  only  an  owld  woman 
and  a  couple  o'  maids  to  mind  the  house,  and  a  stable- 
helper  left,  or  somethin'  that  way,  to  watch  the  place." 

"  A  single  stable-helper  !  Didn't  you  tell  me  he  keeps 
a  pack  of  hounds  ? " 

"Yis,  sir  ;  but  he  doesn't  keep  up  the  dogs  unless  whin 
lie's  here  himself." 

"  How  does  he  manage,  then  ? " 

"  Why,  he  gives  one  couple  o'  dogs  to  one  tenant,  and 
another  couple  to  another,  and  so  on  in  that  way,  while 
he  isn't  in  the  place  ;  and  whin  he  comes  back,  he  gathers 
thim  in  again  ;  and  so  he  isn't  at  the  expense  of  keepin'  up 
the  kennel  while  he's  away." 

"  What  a  shabby  fellow,"  said  the  traveller. 

"Oh!  not  to  say  shabby,  sir." 

"  Why,  what  else  can  you  call  quartering  his  dogs  on 
his  poor  tenantry." 

"  Oh,  for  all  that  he's  not  shabby — for  when  he  is  down 
here,  the  company  is  never  out  of  his  house  ;  and  they  say 
there's  lashings  and  lavings  of  everything  in  it,  and  the 
claret  fiyin'  about  the  place  as  common  as  beer  and  no 
stint  to  anyone  I'm  towld." 

"  That's  mere  wastefulness  and  rioting,  and  cannot  in  my 
opinion  redeem  his  shabbiness,  for  I  cannot  call  it  any- 
thing else.  Can  he  not  feel  that  when  the  poor  people 
feed  his  sporting-dogs,  the  fruit  of  their  labor  is  invaded 
to  contribute  to  his  pleasure  ?" 

"  Why,  if  you  go  to  the  rights  o'  the  things,  what  your 
honor  says  is  thrue  enough  ;  but  we  wouldn't  be  too  sharp 
in  looking  at  what  a  gintleman  would  do — and,  indeed, 
I  don't  dislike  it  myself,  as  far  as  that  goes,  for  the 
couple  o'  dogs  that  is  left  with  me  I  do  have  a  great  deal 
©f  fun  with." 

"How?" 

"  Huntin'  rabbits,  sir." 

"  They  must  be  nice  dogs  after  that !  " 

"  Divil  a  harm  it  does  thim — sure   it  comes  nath'ral  to 


46  RORY   O'MORE. 

the  craythurs,  and  it  would  be  cruel  to  stint  them  of  their 
divarshin." 

"And  do  you  all  hunt  rabbits  with  the  dogs  left  to  your 
care  ? " 

"  Everyone  of  us." 

"Then  the  pack  can't  be  worth  a  farthing." 

"  Why,  indeed,  I  don't  deny  they  run  a  little  wild  now 
and  thin  ;  but  sure  what  would  be  the  use  of  a  whipper-in 
if  the  dogs  worn't  a  little  fractious  ?" 

Rory  continued  his  discourse  with  the  stranger  as  they 
proceeded  on  their  road,  giving  him  various  information 
respecting  the  squire,  and  the  collector,  and  the  parson,  in 
all  of  which,  though  Rory  did  not  so  intend  it,  his  hearer 
found  deep  cause  of  disproval  of  their  conduct. 

Their  conversation  was  now  interrupted  by  the  deep 
baying  of  dogs  ;  and  Rory  answered  the  sound  by  a  cheer- 
ing whoop,  and  the  calling  of  the  dogs  by  their  names. 

"There  they  are,  sir,"  said  he  ;  "you  see  we're  jist  at 
home." 

As  he  spoke  they  turned  into  the  little  boreen  already 
noticed,  and  two  hounds  came  rushing  wildly  up  the  lane 
and  jumped  upon  Rory  with  all  the  testimonials  of  canine 
recognition. 

"  Down,  Rattler,  you  devil,  down  ! — you'll  tear  the  coat 
av  my  back.  Murther!  Sweetlips,  don't  be  kissin'  me — 
down,  you  brutes  !  "  And  he  drove  the  animals  from  him, 
whose  furious  caresses  were  more  than  agreeable.  "  Poor 
things  !'' said  he  to  the  stranger  in  a  kindly  tone,  "sure 
thin  it's  pleasant  even  to  have  a  dog  welkim  one  home." 

"More  than  a  dog,  Rory,  dear,"  said  a  sweet  voice  from 
amid  the  darkness  ;  and  the  next  instant  a  girl  ran  up  to 
Rory,  and,  throwing  her  arms  round  his  neck,  kissed  him 
over  and  over  again.  He  returned  her  embrace  with  af- 
fection, and  said  : 

"  How  is  the  mother  ?  " 

"  Hearty,  thank  God,"  said  the  girl. 

"  And  yourself,  Mary,  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  what  would  ail  me  ?  But  tell  me,  what  sort  of  a 
place  is  Dublin  ? — and  how  did  you  like  it  ? — and  did  you 
get  me  the  ribbon  ?  " 

"  It's  my  sisther,  sir,"  said  Rory  to  his  guest,  paying  no 
attention  to  the  numerous  questions  of  Mary,  who  now, 
for  the  first  time  observing  the  stranger,  dropped  a  short 
courtesy  to  him,  and  said  in  a  subdued  voice  : 

"Your  sarvant,  sir." 


RORY  O'MORE.  47 

"Run  on,  Mary,  dear,  and  tell  the  mother  we're  comin','' 
said  Rory,  accompanying  his  words  with  a  significant 
pinch  on  Mary's  elbow,  which  meant,  "  Make  the  place 
look  as  dacent  as  possible." 

Mary  ran  hastily  forward,  fully  understanding  Rory's 
telegraphic  communication  ;  and  when  the  travellers 
reached  the  cottage,  they  found  the  mother  and  Mary  in 
that  peculiar  state  of  action  which  in  the  polite  world  is 
called  "hurry-scuny ;"  and  the  dragging  of  chairs  and 
stools,  cramming  of  things  into  corners,  and  slapping 
about  with  the  ends  of  aprons,  testified  their  anxiety  to 
receive  so  unusual  a  visitor  with  proper  honor. 

When  they  entered,  the  widow  first  received  her  son 
with  the  strongest  evidence  of  a  mother's  affection,  kissing 
him  tenderly ;  and  with  the  reverential  appeal  to  Heaven 
in  which  the  Irish  peasantry  indulge,  she  said,  "  God  bless 
you,  alanna,  you're  welkim  home  !  "  She  then  turned  to 
the  stranger,  and  in  that  soft  accent  of  her  country  which 
so  well  expresses  the  gentlest  emotions  of  human  nature, 
she  said,  in  tones  that  would  have  almost  conveyed  her 
meaning  without  words,  "You're  kindly  welkim,  sir." 

The  stranger  expressed  his  thanks  ;  but,  notwithstanding 
the  manifest  commotion  which  his  arrival  occasioned,  he 
was  too  polite  to  notice  it,  and  did  not,  as  a  vulgar  person 
always  does,  overload  the  people  with  requests  not  to 
trouble  themselves  on  his  account. 

He  quietly  took  a  seat  ;  and  Rory,  with  instinctive  good- 
breeding,  took  another,  and  continued  to  discourse  with 
his  guest.  Now  and  then,  to  be  sure,  he  could  not  help 
casting  his  eyes  toward  his  mother,  who  was  busy  in  all 
sorts  of  preparation,  and  asking  :  "  Can  I  help  you,  mother 
dear  ?  "     But  the  answer  always  was  : 

"  No,  alanna.  Sure  you're  tired  afther  your  journey,  and 
Mary  and  myself  will  do  everything  ;  and  sure  it's  glad  we 
are  to  have  you,  and  proud  that  the  gintleman  is  come 
with  you,  and  only  hopes  he'll  put  up  with  what  we  can 
do.  But  sure,  if  the  entertainment  is  poor,  the  welkim  is 
hearty,  anyhow." 

The  stranger  assured  her  of  his  sense  of  her  kindness. 

"  If  we  knew  of  your  comin',  sir,  sure  we  could  have  had 
a  couple  of  chickens  ready  ;  and  if  the  gintleman  would 
wait  a  bit,  sure  it  isn't  too  late  yet,  and  can  have  a  rasher 
and  e^^^  in  the  manetime." 

"My  dear  ma'am,"  said  the  stranger,  "  pray  don't  tiiink 
of  chickens  to-night ;  the  fact  is   I'm  very  hungry,  and  I 


48  RORY   O'MORE. 

don't  know  a  better  thing  than  a  dish  of  rasher  and  eggs, 
which  l«as  the  great  advantage,  besides,  of  being  got  ready 
sooner." 

Rashers  and  eggs  were  accordingly  got  ready  immedi- 
ately ;  and,  while  the  mother  was  engaged  in  the  culinary 
department,  Mary  spread  a  coarse  but  white  cloth  upon  the 
table,  and  taking  down  from  a  cleanly-scoured  dresser 
some  plates  of  coarse  delf,  arranged  the  table  for  the  sup- 
per. This  the  hungry  travellers  discussed  with  good  ap- 
petite and  much  relish,  and  after  many  relays  of  the  savory 
viands  had  vanished  rapidly  before  them,  a  black  bottle  of 
whiskey  was  produced,  and  some  hot  punch  being  made, 
Rory's  guest  protested  he  had  eaten  one  of  the  best  sup- 
pers he  ever  made  in  his  life. 

Rory  and  his  mother  and  sister  were  lavish  in  their  com- 
pliments to  the  stranger  on  being  so  easily  pleased,  and 
uttered  a  profusion  of  wishes  that  they  had  better  to  offer. 
This  by  their  guest  was  pronounced  impossible  ;  and  when 
at  last  the  stranger  retired  to  bed,  they  parted  for  the  night 
with  the  highest  opinion  of  each  other — he  in  admiration 
of  their  hospitality,  and  they  of  his  condescension. 

Rory  then,  with  his  mother  and  sister,  drew  round  the 
fire,  and,  relieved  from  the  presence  of  a  stranger,  in- 
dulged in  that  affectionate  family  gossip  which  always  is 
the  result  when  one  of  the  circle  has  returned  from  a  tem- 
porary absence.  Rory  sat  on  a  chair  in  the  middle,  his 
sister  on  a  low  stool  beside  him,  with  one  hand  resting  on 
his  knee,  and  her  pretty  eyes  raised  to  his,  in  open  won- 
der, only  to  be  exceeded  by  the  more  open  Avonder  of  her 
mouth,  as  Rory  told  something  of  what  he  had  seen  in 
Dublin.  The  widow,  on  the  other  side,  seated  in  a  low 
easy-chair  of  plaited  straw,  looked  upon  her  son  with 
manifest  pleasure  ;  and  while  she  led  Rory  into  a  digres- 
sion, by  asking  him  how  he  managed  the  "little  business" 
about  the  lease,  Mary  filled  up  the  interval  very  agreeably 
by  looking  with  ecstasy  at  the  roll  of  ribbon  which  her 
brother  brought  her.  This  was  a  great  delight  to  Mary  ; 
it  was  no  pedler's  trash — no  common  thing  bought  at  a 
booth  in  a  fair — but  a  real  downright  metropolitan  ribbon, 
brought  all  the  way  from  Dublin  to  herself. 

Wasn't  she  happy?  And  maybe  she  didn't  think  how 
she'd  astonish  them  next  Sunday  at  chapel  ! 

Rory  told  them  how  he  met  the  stranger  he  brought 
home,  and  of  the  accident  which  led  to  it,  and  praised  him 
to  the  skies  for  his  liberality  and  gentlemanly  conduct ; 


RORY   O'MORE. 


49 


swore  he  was  of  the  right  sort,  and  said  he  was  one  for 
whom  a  poor  man  ought  to  lay  down  his  hfe.  Such  was 
Rory's  opinion  of  the  stranger  he  had  met,  and  who  was 
introduced  to  the  reader  in  the  first  chapter  under  the  title 
of  the  "  Scholar."  How  he  acquired  this  title  will  be  sub- 
sequently seen. 

The  trio  talked  on  until  the  embers  on  the  hearth  were 
quite  burned  out,  and  it  was  at  an  advanced  hour  in  the 
morning  that  they  separated  and  retired  to  their  slumbers, 
which  were  sound,  because  their  lives  were  healthful  and 
innocent. 


CHAPTER   V. 


Whiskey  versus  Small-pox — Gibberish  versus  French — A  Secret  with  Two 
Handles  to  it,  which  our  Hero  and  his  Sister  lay  hold  of. 

The  next  morning  the  Widow  O'More  and  her  son  and 
daughter  arose  refreshed  and  light-hearted,  but  not  so  their 
guest  ;  he  awoke  with  the  burning  thirst,  intense  head- 
ache, and  deadening  sensation  of  sickness  which  are  the 
precursors  of  fever.  It  was  early,  and,  from  the  silence 
that  reigned  in  tne  cottage,  he  concluded  no  one  had  3'et 
risen.  He  endeavored  to  sleep,  but  the  effort  was  vain  ; 
he  fell  but  into  a  confused  dozing,  filled  with  broken 
images,  confused  recollections,  and  wild  imaginings,  from 
which  he  started  but  with  an  increased  sensation  of  illness 
upon  him  ;  and  even  when  the  inhabitants  of  the  cottage 
rose  they  came  not  near  him,  wishing  to  leave  him  undis- 
turbed after  his  fatigue.  At  length,  on  his  hearing  Rory's 
voice,  he  exerted  his  so  as  to  make  himself  heard  ;  and 
when  Rory  entered,  he  perceived,  from  the  heavy  eye  and 
altered  countenance  of  the  stranger,  that  he  was  unwell. 

"  God  be  good  to  us  !  what's  the  matther  with  you, 
sir  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  I'm  ill,  very  ill,  O'More,"  said  the  stranger,  languidly. 

"Well,  don't  disturb  yourself,  sir,  and  you'll  be  betther 
by  and  by,  plaze  God  !  " 

"I'm  afraid  I've  caught  the  small-pox,"  said  the 
stranger." 

"  I  hope  not,  sir;  don't  be  thinkin'  o'  such  things.  Sure, 
how  would  you  get  the  small-pox  ? " 

"  From  a  beggar  in  the  crowd  last  night,  when  we 
alighted  at  the  inn.     I  remember  shuddering  at  the  men- 

4 


50  RORY  0'MO/{*i. 

tion  of  the  disease  when  she  spoke  of  it  ;  and  I  fear  I  am 
infected  with  what  I  dread  more  than  anything  under  the 
sun."* 

"  I  had  betther  bring  my  mother  to  you,  sir,"  said  Rory, 
"  for  she  is  very  knowledgeable  in  sickness,  and  under- 
stands the  aribs  "  (herbs)  ;  and  with  tliese  words  he  left  the 
room,  leaving  the  poor  sick  stranger  utterly  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  her  knowledge  of  the  Arabs,  as  he  took  Rory's 
word  to  be,  could  have  to  do  with  his  illness. 

When  Rory  returned  with  his  mother,  she  asked  the 
stranger  (for  so  we  shall  yet  continue  to  call  him)  how  he 
felt.  He  told  in  what  manner  he  was  suffering,  and  she 
replied  by  proposing  to  him  to  take  a  glass  of  whiskey. 
The  very  name  of  the  thing  produced  nausea  to  the  sick 
man,  who  refused  the  offer  with  a  shudder. 

"  See  how  you  thrimble,  sir  !  "  said  she.  "  Indeed,  if 
you  b'lieve  me,  a  good  big  dhrop  o'  whiskey  is  the  best 
thing  you  could  take." 

*'  Don't  mention  it,  I  beg  of  you.  I  fear  it  is  the  small- 
pox I  have  caught." 

"  Plaze  God,  I  hope  not  ?  "  said  the  widow  ;  "  but  if  it 
is,  not  a  finer  thing  in  the  world  than  a  dhrop  of  whiskey 
to  dhrive  it  out  from  your  heart." 

Thus  she  continued  to  urge  the  taking  of  ardent  spirits, 
which,  to  this  hour,  in  the  commencement  of  every  sick- 
ness, among  the  Irish  peasantry,  is  considered  the  one 
thing  needful,  and  for  the  reason  the  widow  assigned  iu 
this  case,  namely,  to  "dhrive  it  out  from  the  heart."  The 
heart  is  by  them  considered  the  vulnerable  point  in  sick- 
ness as  well  as  in  love,  so  much  so  indeed,  that  no  matter 
what  disease  they  labor  under,  it  is  always  called  an  "im- 
pression on  the  heart."  So  well  understood  does  tins 
seem  to  be  among  them,  that  even  the  part  affected  is 
not  necessary  to  be  named,  and  the  word  "  heart "  is 
omitted  altogether  ;  and  if  you  ask,  "  What's  the  matter 
with  such-a-one?  "  the  answer  is  sure  to  be,  "  He's  got  an 
impression." 

"  Mrs.  O'More,"  said  the  stranger,  "  I  am  certain  it  is  the 
small-pox  ;  and  while  I  may  yet  be  moved,  pray  let  me  be 
conveyed  to  the  neighboring  town  to  the  inn,  and  let  not 
your  house  be  visited  with  the  disease  and  the  contagion." 

"Oh,  God  forbid  that  I'd  do  the  like,  sir,  and  turn  the 

*  He  must  have  caught  the  disease  earlier,  as  the  infection  of  sniail-poj 
does  not  exhibit  itself  so  soon  ;  but  young  gentlemen  are  not  expected  ta 
3e  too  learned  in  such  matters 


RORY  O'MORE.  51 

sick  sthranger  outside  my  doors  whin  it's  most  he  wants 
the  caring  for — and  in  an  inn  too  !  Oh,  what  would  be^ 
come  of  you  at  all  in  sich  a  place,  where  I  wouldn't  have 
a  sick  dog,  much  less  a  gintleman,  beholdin'  to  !  Make 
yourself  aisy,  sir ;  and  if  it's  as  bad  as  you  think,  we'll 
take  care  o'  you,  niver  fear." 

"  I  don't  fear,"  said  the  stranger,  affected  by  the  widow's 
kindness;  "but  it  is  not  right  that  you  should  have  this 
horrid  disease  under  your  roof,  and  all  for  a  stranger." 

"  Keep  your  mind  aisy,  dear,  do,"  said  the  widow  ;  "sure 
we're  all  poor  craythers,  God  help  us  !  and  if  we  did  not 
help  one  another  in  our  want  and  throuble,  it's  the 
dark  and  blake  world  it  would  be  !  and  what  would  we  be 
Christhans  for  at  all,  if  we  hadn't  charity  in  our  hearts  ?  I 
beg  your  pardon  sir,  for  sayin'  charity  to  a  gintleman — but 
sure  it's  not  charity  I  mane  at  all,  only  tindherness  and 
compassion.  And  as  for  the  sickness  being  undher  our 
roof,  my  childer,  God  be  praised  !  is  over  the  small-pox — 
iv  it  be  it — and  had  it  light,  as  well  as  myself  ;  so  make 
your  mind  aisy,  dear,  and  dhrive  it  out  from  your  heart 
with  the  whiskey.  Well,  well!  don't  shake  your  poor  head 
that  way  ;  I  won't  ax  you  to  take  it  till  you  like  it  your- 
self ;  but  whin  there  is  an  impression,  there's  nothin'  like 
dhrivin'  it  out.  So  I'll  lave  you,  sir,  for  awhile — and  see  if 
you  can  sleep,  and  I'll  come  in  again  by  and  by  ;  and  if 
you  want  anything  in  the  manetime,  you  can  jist  thump 
on  the  flure  with  the  chair — I  have  put  it  convaynient  to 
your  hand — and  the  sooner  you  can  bring  yourself  to  take 
the  sper'ts  the  betther.  Well,  well!  I'll  say  no  more — 
only  it's  the  finest  thing  in  the  world,  with  a  clove  o'  garlic, 
for  worms  or  fayver  to  throw  out  the  venom."  And  so, 
muttering  praises  on  her  favorite  panacea,  she  left  the 
room. 

The  illness  of  the  stranger  increased  during  the  day,  and 
in  the  evening  he  began  to  speak  incoherently.  The 
Widow  O'More  now  thought  it  probably  was  the  small- 
pox with  which  her  guest  was  visited,  and  began  to  take 
the  most  approved  measures  that  were  in  those  days  es- 
tablished for  the  cure  of  that  terrible  disease  ;  tliat'is  to 
say,  she  stopped  every  crevice  of  the  room  whereby  air 
could  be  admitted,  opened  the  door  as  seldom  as  possible, 
and  heaped  all  the  clothes  she  could  on  the  patient,  and 
gave  him  hot  drinks  to  allay  the  raging  thirst  that  con- 
sumed him.  Not  content  with  heaping  bed-clothes  over 
the  uni*appy  sufferer,  she  got  a  red  cloth  cloak  and  wrapped 


52  RORY   u'MORE. 

it  tightly  round  his  body  ;  it  being  in  those  days  considere(5 
that  a  wrapper  of  red  cloth  was  of  great  virtue. 

Let  the  reader,  then,  imagine  the  wretched  plight  the 
poor  stranger  was  reduced  to,  and  what  chance  of  recovery 
he  had  from  such  treatment.  The  fever  increased  fearfully, 
and  he  soon  became  quite  delirious.  During  his  ravings 
he  imagined  the  bed  in  which  he  lay  to  be  a  tent ;  for, 
with  national  hospitality,  he  had  been  placed  in  the  best 
bed  in  the  house,  with  the  flaring  calico  curtains  before 
mentioned. 

"Why  is  this  tent  square  ?  "  said  he. 
"Whisht,  whisht,  dear,"  said  the  widow,  soothingly. 
"  But  why  is  it  square  ?   And  look  here,"  said  he,  seizing 
the  curtain — "why  is  not  this  white  ?  why  is  my  tent  red  ? 
or  is  it  the  blood  of  the  enemy  upon  it  ?" 
"  God  help  the  crayther  !  "  said  the  widow. 
Rory  now  entered  the  room  ;  and  the  stranger  started  up 
in  the  bed  and  said,  "  Qui  vive?  " 

"Sir?"  said  Rory,  rather  astonished. 
"  A/i  !  cest  mon  caporal"  pursued  the  sick  man.    "Caporatl, 
no7/s  avons  vaincii  les  Anglais  !  voila  leur  sang ;"  and  he  shook 
the  curtains  fiercely. 

"  Humor  him,  dear,"  said  the  widow,  to  Rory  ;  "  the 
crayther's  ravin'  ;  purtend  you  know  all  about  it — that's 
the  best  way  to  soother  him." 

"  Sure  I  dunna  what  he's  sayin' — he's  muttherin'  gibber- 
ish there." 

"Well,  do  you  mutther  gibberish,  too,"  said  the  widow 

and  left  the  room. 

''Respondez  vite,  caporal"  said  the  invalid. 

"  Hullabaloo  ! "  shouted  Rory. 

"  Qu' est-ceque  c'est  ?  " 

"  Hullabaloo  !  "  cried  Rory,  again. 

"  Vmts  etes  etranger,"  said  the  poor  sufferer  ;  '' tremblez  ! 
esclave,  tremblez!  rendezvous!  "  and  he  jumped  up  in  bed— 
*'  rendez  an  drapcau  tricolor  !  " 

"A  dhrop  o'  what  ?"  said  Rory. 

"  Vive  le  drapeau  tricolor  !  "  cried  De  Lacy. 

Ror>-  left  the  room,  and  told  his  mother  he  believed  "  the 
poor  gintleman  was  callin'  for  a  dhrop  o'  something."  She 
entered  with  more  hot  drink,  and  asked  the  sick  man  to 
swallow  ;  "it'll  do  you  good,  dear,"  said  she. 

"Is  there  anything  you'd  like  better,  sir?"  said  Rory, 
'^and  if  it  is  to  be  had  I'll  get  it  for  you." 

The  stranger  seemed  to  be  recalled  from  his  raving  mo- 


RORY  O'MORS.  S3 

ment  by  the  sounds  of  another  language  upon  his  ears ; 
and  looking  wildly  again  at  Rory  and  his  mother,  and  the 
bed,  he  said,  "  This  is  not  my  tent — who  are  you  ? — where 
am  I  ? " — and  he  flung  the  bed-clothes  down  from  him — 
then  seeing  the  red  cloak  wrapped  round  him,  he  said, 
fiercely,  "  Take  this  accursed  cloth  from  off  me — I'm  no 
slave  of  the  English  tyrants — where  is  my  blue  uniform  ?" 

"  Lie  down,  dear,  lie  down,"  said  the  widow. 

"  Never  ! "  said  the  sick  man — "  we'll  never  lie  down 
under  tyranny !  "  and  he  attempted  to  jump  from  the  bed. 

"  Rory,  dear,  howld  him,"  said  the  widow — "  howld 
him,  or  he'll  be  out  ;  and  if  he  catches  cowld,  he's  lost." 

Rory  now  by  force  held  down  the  sufferer,  who  strug- 
gled violently  for  awhile,  but,  becoming  exhausted,  sank 
back  on  the  bed,  and  groaned  aloud.  "  Ah  !  I  see  what 
my  fate  is — I'm  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  accursed 
English." 

For  some  time  he  now  lay  quieter,  and  Mary  was  left  to 
watch  in  his  chamber  while  Rory  was  absent  for  som.e 
drugs  his  mother  sent  him  for  to  the  neighboring  village. 
During  her  sojourn  in  the  room,  Mary  often  heard  the 
stranger  lamenting  his  fate  in  a  plaintive  tone,  and  calling 
on  a  female  name  in  passionate  accents.  In  this  state  for 
some  days  the  patient  continued  ;  his  paroxysms  of  raving 
being  but  varieties  of  lamenting  his  fate  as  a  prisoner, 
calling  for  his  blue  uniform,  and  invoking  a  female  name. 
From  the  nature  of  all  this  raving,  Rory  and  Mary  drew 
each  their  own  conclusions.  Rory,  from  his  knowledge  of 
the  stranger's  bearing  and  opinions  before  he  fell  sick,  and 
from  the  tone  of  his  subsequent  delirium,  suspected  he 
was  an  officer  in  the  French  army  ;  and  Mary,  from  his 
frequent  calling  on  a  female  name,  had  no  doubt  he  was  in 
love.  Now,  to  the  end  of  time,  Mary  could  never  have 
guessed  at  the  stranger's  profession,  nor  Rory  at  the  state 
of  his  heart ;  but  these  are  the  delicate  shades  of  difference 
that  exist  between  the  mind  of  man  and  woman.  The 
sympathies  of  the  former  are  alive  to  turmoil  and  strife  ; 
those  of  the  latter,  to  the  gentle  workings  of  our  nature  ; 
the  finer  feelings  of  a  woman  vibrate  with  magic  quickness 
to  the  smallest  indications  of  affection  ;  while,  manlike, 
the  warhorse  of  the  Psalmist  "  smelleth  the  battle  afar  off." 

Both  Rory  and  Mary  were  right  in  their  conclusions  ; 
the  sick  stranger  was  an  officer  in  the  French  service,  and 
also  was  in  love. 

With  respect  to  the  love  affair,  the  tangled  business  may 


54 


RORV    O'MORE. 


go  tangling  on,  as  the  more  tangled  such  affairs  becomes 
the  better  ;  but  of  the  stranger's  name  and  purpose  it  is 
time  the  reader  should  be  informed. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
In  which  a  Gentleman  Writes  a  Letter  as  Long  as  a  Lady's. 

Horace  De  Lacy  was  the  stranger's  name.  Descended 
from  the  noble  race  of  De  Lacy  one  of  the  original  con- 
querors of  Ireland,  he  inherited  all  the  fire  and  courage  ol 
his  ancestors  ;  but  now  the  descendant  of  the  enslaver  be^ 
came  the  champion  of  liberty,  and  panted  with  as  burning 
a  zeal  for  the  regeneration  of  his  country  as  his  ancestors 
had  done  for  her  subjugation  ;  for  Ireland  was  now  his 
native  land,  and  tlie  remark  so  often  made  in  the  chroni' 
cles  of  England,  that  the  descendants  of  English  settlers 
in  Ireland  became  more  fierce  in  their  rebellion  than  the 
natives  themselves,  was  about  to  be  once  more  verified  in 
the  person  of  Horace  De  Lacy. 

Though  an  Irishman  by  birth,  he  had  for  some  years 
been  resident  in  France.  There  he  imbibed  all  the  fierce 
enthusiasm  to  which  the  epoch  of  the  French  revolution 
gave  birth,  and  the  aspirations  of  universal  liberty  which 
fired  his  young  heart  were  first  directed  to  his  native  land. 
As  early  as  1794,  communications  were  carried  forward 
between  the  disaffected  in  Ireland  and  the  French  execu- 
tive ;  and  Dr.  Jackson,  one  of  the  agents  at  that  period, 
was  discovered,  and  would  have  been  hanged,  but  that  he 
escaped  the  ignominious  death  by  swallowing  poison  in 
the  dock,  where  he  died  in  the  face  of  his  accusers  and  his 
judges.  The  death  of  Jackson  produced  a  great  sensation 
in  Ireland.  It  made  the  rapacious  and  intolerant  faction 
that  then  ruled  the  country  more  insolent  ;  and  those  Avho 
cursed  their  rule  and  endeavored  to  overthrow  it,  more 
cautious. 

The  result  was  fearful.  Wrong  was  heaped  upon  wrong 
by  the  oppressors  ;  suffered  in  hopelessness,  but  reinem- 
bered,  by  the  oppressed.  Each  new  aggression  on  the  one 
side  produced  a  debt  of  hatred  on  the  other,  and  the  ac 
count  was  carried  on  with  compound  interest. 

In  1797,  another  communication  was  opened  between 
the  disaffected  in  Ireland  and  the  executive  of  the  French 


RORY  O'MORE.  55 

government,  and  De  Lacy  was  one  of  the  agents.  He  was 
an  officer  of  the  French  army,  and  volunteered  to  under- 
take the  dangerous  duty  of  visiting  Ireland  and  England, 
with  a  view  of  ascertaining  the  probable  likelihood  of  suc- 
cess in  a  revolutionary  movement  in  the  one  country,  and 
the  state  of  feeling  as  regarded  a  desire  of  revolution  in 
the  other. 

In  France,  at  that  period,  it  is  singular  the  total  igno- 
rance that  existed  with  relation  to  the  state  of  the  united 
dominions  of  Great  Britain.  Repeatedly  as  they  had  been 
assured  of  the  certainty  of  co-operation  in  a  descent  upon 
Ireland,  and  the  futility  of  any  such  attempt  upon  Eng- 
land, nevertheless  the  absurd  scheme  was  entertained  of 
letting  loose  some  French  desperadoes  in  England,  and 
carrying  on  a  system  of  Chouanncrie  in  that  country. 

The  most  active  and  intelligent  of  the  Irish  emissaries, 
Theobald  Wolf  Tone,  then  resident  at  Paris,  had  repeat- 
edly assured  the  French  executive  that  such  a  plan  was 
worse  than  hopeless,  but  still  they  were  not  convinced  ; 
and  General  Clarke,  then  minister  of  war,  because  he  bore 
an  Irish  name,  and  was  of  Irish  descent,  thinking  he  must 
know  something  of  the  matter,  though  he  never  set  foot 
in  the  country,  helped  to  strengthen  them  in  this  belief, 
and  notwithstanding  all  the  assurances  and  arguments  of 
Tone,  Clarke  would  not  be  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  such 
statements  without  having  an  emissary  of  his  own  to  visit 
the  country  and  report  upon  it. 

De  Lacy  was  the  person  who  volunteered  this  service  ; 
and,  crossing  the  channel  in  the  boat  of  a  smuggler,  who 
knew  the  coast  well,  and  was  in  constant  habit  of  commu- 
nication with  both  England  and  Ireland — but  particularly 
the  latter — he  had  been  for  some  time  in  London  and 
through  the  English  provinces  before  he  visited  Ireland, 
There  he  had  but  recently  arrived  when  Rory  O'More  met 
him  as  a  travelling  companion  ;  and  of  the  events  of  his 
journey  since,  the  reader  is  in  possession. 

What  impressions  his  observations  in  England  produced 
may  be  seen  by  the  following  letter,  which  was  forwarded 
to  France  by  a  sailor  on  board  a  vessel  which  traded  be- 
tween   Dublin    and    France,    under    Swedish    colors,   and 

under  the  particular  patronage  of  Lord ,  then  high  in 

the  government  of  Ireland,  and  the  most  vindictive  enemy 
of  the  liberal  party. 

It  may  be  asked,  why  did  Lord permit,  much  less 

patronize,  this  proceeding  ?     It  was  because  the  vessel  ivas 


56  KORY   O'MORE. 

cluirtered  by  a  certain  merchant  to  whom  he  was  indebted 
in  large  loans  of  money  ;  and  the  accommodation  thus  af- 
forded was  partly  paid  by  the  exclusive  permission  of 
trading  with  France  thus  granted  by  Lord ,  whose  in- 
fluence in  Ireland  was  then  so  paramount,  that  a  word 
from  him  was  sufficient  to  guarantee  the  safety  of  his 
friend's  ship,  by  the  willing  blindness  of  the  commission- 
ers of  customs,  who  always  treated  this  make-believe  Swed- 
ish vessel  with  the  most  exemplary  indulgence.  Certain 
intelligence  from  France,  too,  was  procured  in  this  way  ; 
but  while  the  noble  lord  and  his  party  thus  obtained  in- 
formation, they  little  dreamed  that  the  same  channel  was 
used  for  the  transmission  of  intelligence  between  their 
enemies. 

In  the  packet  of  information  that  follows,  the  reader 
must  not  be  startled  at  its  high-sounding  style  ;  the  ton(; 
of  the  period  was  extravagant,  particularly  in  France  ;  and 
De  Lacy  was  of  that  age  and  of  that  profession  which  de  • 
lights  in  flourishes  whether  of  trumpets  or  words.  Thu 
packet  was  addressed  to  a  certain  "  Citizen  Madgett,"  ac 
Paris,  well-known  in  those  days  to  the  Irish  republican 
party,  and  to  whom  General  Clarke  had  desired  De  Lacy' i 
communications  to  be  made.     Its  contents  ran  thus  : 

"You  know  with  what  feelings  I  left  France.  I  rejoiced 
there,  in  common  with  my  fellows,  in  the  triumph  that 
right  had  achieved  over  wrong,  in  the  majesty  of  human 
nature  overcoming  the  kings  that  would  have  enslaved 
her  ;  in  the  brilliant  era  of  retribution  and  resuscitation 
that  more  than  redeemed  the  tyranny  and  sufferings  that 
gave  it  birth.  You  know  how  I  hoped,  in  the  warmth  of 
my  head  and  heart,  that  the  rest  of  mankind  should  share 
in  the  blessings  we  had  so  dearly  purchased  with  our 
blood,  and  that  man,  freed  from  the  thraldom  of  ages, 
should  form  but  one  family  ;  that  the  prejudices  and  dis- 
tinctions of  countries  should  be  forgotten,  and  regenerated 
mankind,  as  one  nation,  kneel  Peruvian-like  to  the  newly- 
risen  sun  of  their  freedom. 

"  But  this  glorious  dream  has  been  disturbed  since  I  left 
you.  I  visited  England  with  the  view  of  kindling  on  a 
thousand  altars  the  fire  of  liberty  that  I  bore  with  me  from 
liberty's  own  temple  ;  but  the  moral  as  well  as  the  natural 
atmosphere  of  England  is  damp  and  chilly,  compared  with 
the  country  of  the  vine,  and  I  found  myself  a  disappointed 
enthusiast,  with  few  or  none  to  share  in  my  raptures,     My 


RORY  O'MORE.  57 

hymn  of  liberty  was  not  lialf  so  cheering  to  me,  as  t'ue 
clank  of  John  Bull's  chains  to  his  own  ears  (and  long 
enough  they  are) ;  and  a  priest  of  liberty,  like  any  other 
priest,  cuts  a  very  contemptible  figure  without  a  congre- 
gation. 

"  So,  after  some  little  time,  seeing  the  state  of  aSairs 
stand  thus,  I  began  to  look  about  me  with  more  observa- 
tion. 'Perhaps,'  said  I  to  myself,  'John  Bull  is  like  his 
own  flint  stones,  with  fire  enough  in  him,  only  you  must 
strike  him  hard  ;'  and  so  I  laid  myself  out  for  observation 
and  was  on  the  alert  for  every  grievance. 

"  I  was  baffled  in  making  any  great  advances  toward  my 
object,  and  after  some  time  fruitlessly  spent,  it  struck  me 
that  the  capital  city  of  a  kingdom  is  not  the  place  to  judge 
of  the  real  state  of  a  country,  or  measure  the  feelings  ol 
the  people.  '  Here,'  said  I,  'in  London,  where  peers  have 
their  palaces  and  merchai:its  their  mansions  ;  where  waste- 
ful wealth  and  lavish  luxury  deprave  the  whole  community, 
and,  blinding  the  citizen  to  the  real  state  of  things,  make 
him  believe,  because  he  is  a  sharer  in  the  plunder  they  are 
wasting,  that  he  is  a  gainer  by  their  extravagance — here  is 
not  the  place  to  hope  for  the  altar  of  freedom,  and  the 
rights  of  regenerated  man  to  be  respected.  The  Londoner 
will  endure  the  abuses  of  his  time  because  he  enjoys  from 
them  a  temporary  benefit,  and  even  upholds  the  very  tyr- 
anny of  which  he  himself  will  be  last  to  suffer.  But  to  be 
the  last'  in  suffering  is  considered  a  wondrous  gain  in  our 
contemptible  natures.  How  like  men  are  to  children  in 
such  matters  !  I  remember,  at  school,  how  the  timid  boys 
hung  back  from  a  cup  of  medicine,  or  th.e  cold-bath,  or 
punishment,  and  the  wretch  who  was  last  drenched  with 
rhubarb,  shoved  into  the  river,  or  flogged,  thought  iiimself 
a  clever  fellow,  and  enjoyed  a  sort  of  per  centage  on  the 
suffering  that  had  gone  before  him.  '  So  is  it,'  thought  I, 
'  with  the  Londoner  :  but  I  will  go  into  the  country,  and 
there,  in  the  interior  of  England,  observe  the  canker  thai 
s  at  her  heart  ;  and  while  I  observe  the  disease,  I  will  in- 
culcate the  remedy.' 

"With  this  view  I  quitted  the  capital  and  visited  a  village. 
The  lord  of  the  soil  (one  of  the  magnificent  English  baro- 
nets) I  knew  was  in  the  capital  at  the  time,  and  from  his 
neglected  and  forsaken  tenantry  I  might  hope  to  hear  the 
murmurs  of  dissatisfaction  and  the  desire  of  redress.  But 
in  this  I  was  disappointed.  I  wished  to  see  what  extent  of 
domain  the  aristocrat  appropriated  to  his  own  enjoyment 


68  RORY  O'MORE. 

(when  he  was  at  home),  and  walked  toward  the  II(;iior,  as 
it  is  called,  in  expectation  of  seeing  the  shutters  closed, 
and  grass  growing  through  the  avenues.  I  leaped  a  fence, 
and  proceeded  through  a  rich  field  and  a  piece  of  beauti- 
ful plantation,  until  I  was  accosted  by  a  well-dressed 
peasant,  who  asked  me,  somewhat  sturdily,  what  brought 
me  there?  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  look  ov^er  thegrounds 
and  see  the  house.  He  asked  me  had  I  got  leave,  and  how 
did  I  get  in  ?  On  telling  him  how,  he  said  crossing  the 
fence  was  not  permitted,  and  suggested  my  going  back.  I 
said,  if  the  family  were  at  home,  I  would  not  have  taken 
the  liberty  to  intrude  ;  but  in  their  absence  there  could  be 
no  offence.  *  Sir  Richard  is  quite  as  particular  when  he  is 
away,' was  the   answer.     'Is  he  so  very  churlish,'  I  said, 

*  as  to  object  to  a  gentleman  crossing  his  domain  when  he 
is  away,  and  when  his  privacy  cannot  be  invaded  ?'  '  Oh, 
whether  he's  here  or  not,  is  no  odds,'  replied  the  man  ; 

*  for  strangers  running  in  and  out  of  the  park  would  spoil 
it  just  as  much,  whether  Sir  Richard  be  here  or  no.'  'Then 
he  keeps  up  his  park  at  all  times?'  said  I.  'To  be  sure, 
sir,  he  do,'  said  the  man,  looking  at  me  as  if  he  did  not 
^now  whether  I  was  a  rogue  or  simpleton.  'And  may  I 
not  be  permitted  to  walk  through  the  park  ?'  '  Why,  sir, 
ti  you  get  leave  of  Mr.  Lowndes,  or  Mr.  Banks,  or  the  stew- 
ard, or    the  agent,  or '   And  on    he  went,   telling  me 

how  many  people  could  give  me  leave,  till  I  interrupted 
him  by  saying  :  '  Why,  you  have  a  large  establishment 
here.'  'Oh,  yes,  sir,'  said  he;  'it's  all  the  same,  like, 
whether  Sir  Richard  be  here  or  no — except  that  there's 
not  the  company  at  the  house.'  'And  who  may  you  be  ?' 
I  inquired.  'One  of  the  keepers,  sir.'  'Well,'  said  I,  '  a^ 
I  have  not  time  to  ask  any  of  the  people  you  have  named, 
perhaps  you  would  be  so  obliging' — and  all  tlie  time  I 
kept  a  telegraphic  fumbling  of  my  right  hand  in  my  waist- 
coat pocket — '  you  would  be  so  obliging  as  to  show  me  up 
to  the  house,'  and  as  I  finished  my  query,  I  slid  a  half 
crown  backward  and  forward  between  my  fore-finger  and 
thumb.  'Why,  sir,' said  the  keeper,  'as  I  sees  you're  a 
gen'lman'  — and  he  looked,  not  at  me,  but  at  the  half 
crown — '  I  cawn't  see  no  objections  ;'  and  a  transfer  of  my 
money  and  his  civility  at  once  was  effected. 

"  My  guide  led  me  through  a  splendid  park  toward  the 
house  ;  no  grass  growing  through  the  walks,  as  I  antici- 
pated— but  beautifully  kept,  as  if  the  lord  of  the  soil  were 
present.     We  reached  the  house  :  no  closed  shutters,  but 


RORY  O'MORE.  59 

half-open  windows,  and  the  curtains  from  within,  caught 
by  the  breeze,  peeping  out  to  visit  the  roses  that  were  peep- 
ing in  to  meet  them — a  sort  of  flirtation  between  the  ele- 
gancies of  the  interior  and  exterior. 

"On  entering  the  house  I  found  myself  in  a  square  hail, 
lined  throughout  with  oak.  The  ceiling  was  low  and  di- 
vided by  richly-carved  octagonal  frame-work  into  compart- 
ments, the  polished  floor  was  also  inlaid  after  the  same 
pattern,  and  the  wainscot  elaborately  panelled  and  covered 
with  curious  carving.  Old  suits  of  armor,  cross-bows,  bills, 
partisans,  two-handled  swords  and  other  weapons,  were 
distributed  around  the  apartment ;  and  an  enormous  blood- 
hound lay  stretched  upon  the  floor,  basking  in  the  sun,  and 
seemedia  suitable  tenant  of  this  domestic  armory.  I  strolled 
through  room  after  room,  and  an  air  of  habitual  wealth 
prevailed  throughout. 

"  There  was  an  old  library,  with  pieces  of  buhl  furniture, 
and  old  ebony  seats  and  chairs,  with  large  down  cushions, 
where  one  might  luxuriate  in  learning.  And  this  delight- 
ful old  room  looked  out  on  an  antique  looking  garden, 
whose  closely-cut  grass-plots  were  like  velvet  and  divided 
by  high  hedgerows  of  yew,  cropped  as  smooth  as  a  wall. 
Then  a  large  cedar  spread  his  dusky  branches  so  close  to 
the  windows  as  to  exclude  some  portion  of  the  light,  and 
produced  that  demi-jour  so  suitable  to  a  place  of  study. 
There  were  pictures  throughout  the  house,  principally  por- 
traits, of  which  the  English  are  so  fond — some  of  them  very 
good,  sufficiently  so  to  be  valuable  as  works  of  art.  Hol- 
bein and  Vandyke  had  immortalized  some  of  the  former 
owners  of  the  Honor  ;  and  there  they  hung  in  goodly  suc- 
cession, holding  a  place  on  the  walls  of  the  chateau  they 
had  successively  been  masters  of.  The  seal  of  time  was  on 
all  this  evidence — here  from  sire  to  son  had  plenty  been 
transmitted,  and  wealth  and  comfort  were  hereditary. 
There  was,  withal,  such  an  air  of  peace  and  tranquillity 
about  the  old  place,  that  it  was  quite  soothing  ;  you  could 
hear  through  the  open  casements  the  rustling  of  the  flowers 
in  the  garden,  as  the  warm  breeze  whispered  through  them 
and  wafted  their  fragrance  into  the  library. 

"  Could  one,  at  such  a  moment,  think  hopefully  of  rev- 
olution ?— where  so  much  comfort  existed,  there  also  would 
exist  the  love  of  repose.  I  confess  I  was  overcome  by  the 
influence  of  all  I  had  seen,  and  convinced  that  Tone  is 
quite  right.  On  quitting  the  Honor,  however,  I  considered 
that  though  the  aristocracy  mioht  revel  in  such  enjoyments 


6o  RORY   O'MORE. 

hs  these,  the  great  mass  of  the  people  would  be  willing  to 
invade  a  repose  that  was  purchased    at  the  price  of  their, 
labor  and  taxation,  and  a  system  where  the  many  were  sac- 
rificed to  the  few.    '  It  is  not  in  Allenby  Honor  I  must  look,' 
thought  I,  'but  in  the  village.' 

"  Here,  after  days  of  observation,  I  confess  I  think  the 
hope  of  revolutionizing  England  quite  absurd.  The  com- 
forts of  the  people  are  generally  such,  that  men  with  less 
caution  than  the  English  would  not  risk  the  loss  of  them 
in  the  hope  of  speculative  blessings.  Their  houses  are 
well  built,  and  so  beautifully  clean  ! — but  not  merely  clean 
—a  love  of  embellishment  is  to  be  seen  ;  trailing  plants  per- 
haps festoon  their  windows  round  a  bit  of  trellis,  a  white 
curtain  peeping  from  within  ;  there  is  a  neat  paling  round 
the  house,  and  flowers  within  this  fence — the  cultivation 
of  flowers  in  the  little  gardens  of  the  lower  orders,  bespeaks 
a  country  in  contentment.  Then  the  better  class  of  dwell- 
ing, with  its  paved  walk  leading  up  from  the  outer  gate 
through  evergreens,  and  its  bright  brass  knocker  and  bell- 
pull,  and  white  steps,  that  seem  as  if  they  had  been  washed 
the  minute  before  ;  the  windows  so  clean,  with  their  Vene- 
tian blinds  inside  and  fresh  paint  without ;  in  short,  I  could 
not  enumerate  a  twentieth  part  of  these  trifling  evidences 
that  go  to  prove  the  ease  and  prosperity  of  these  people. 

"  Their  domestic  arrangements  keep  pace  with  this  out- 
ward show.  They  are  universally  well  found  in  the  essen- 
tial comforts  of  life — they  have  good  beds,  are  well  clothed 
and  well  fed.  I  saw  an  old  fellow  yesterday  evening  driv- 
ing his  water-cart  to  the  river,  and  he  was  as  fat  and  rosy 
as  an  alderman  :  the  cart  and  the  water-barrel  upon  it  were 
nicely  painted,  and  as  the  little  donkey  drew  it  along,  the 
old  fellow  trudged  beside  it,  comforting  himself  with  the 
support  of  a  stick.  Fancy  a  peasant  with  a  walking-stick  ! 
. — do  you  think  that  fellow  would  turn  rebel  ? — never. 

"  On  a  little  green  beside  tbe  village,  some  boys  were 
playing  at  cricket  ;  they  had  their  bats  and  ball — poverty 
cannot  be  here  when  peasants  can  buy  the  materials  of 
play  for  their  children.  Then  the  children  seemed  so  care- 
ful !  the  coats  and  hats  they  had  taken  off  during  their  ex- 
ercises were  piled  in  a  heap  at  a  distance,  and  when  their 
game  was  finished  they  dressed  themselves  with  such  reg- 
ularity ! — and  with  what  good  clothes  they  were  provided  ! 

"This  is  not  the  country  for  revolution  !  such  is  my  firm 
conviction.  There  are  some  in  England  who  hail  with 
rapture  the  dawn  of  liberty,  and  wish  that  its  splendor  may 


RORY   O'MORE.  6i 

lighten  all  nations,  but  that  number  is  comparatively  small, 
and  I  cannot  wonder  at  it,  after  all  that  I  have  seen.  Be- 
lieve me,  there  are  few  men  in  England  like  Home  Tooke. 
By  the  by,  I  must  tell  you  a  capital  thing  he  said  the  other 
day.  The  conversation  ran  upon  definitions,  and  some- 
one said  it  would  be  hard  to  define  what  was  treason.  '  Not 
at  all,'  said  Home  Tooke  :  '  it  is  nothing  but  reason  with  a 
/  to  it.'     Wasn't  it  capital  ? 

"  To  conclude.  Tone  is  right.  I  repeat  it,  no  hope  can 
be  entertained  of  revolutionizing  England. 

"  I  go  to  Ireland  next  week  :  and  from  all  I  can  learn 
here,  matters  promise  better  for  us  there.  I  carry  this  let- 
ter with  me  to  Dublin,  whence  I  shall  transmit  it  to  you 
by  your  Swedish  friend.  You  shall  hear  from  me  again, 
immediately  that  I  have  made  my  observations. 

H.  D.  L." 

Now,  bating  the  flourishes  about  freedom  and  regener- 
ated mankind,  there  is  much  good  sense  and  shrewd  ob- 
servation in  this  letter.  It  will  be  perceived  that  however 
great  his  revolutionary  enthusiasm,  it  did  not  carry  him 
away  into  the  folly  of  believing  in  impossibilities  ;  he  saw, 
and  said,  that  England  could  not  be  revolutionized,  for  her 
people  enjoyed  too  many  comforts  to  throw  them  away  in 
a  civil  war.  This  temperate  tone  is  noticed  to  the  reader, 
to  show  that  De  Lacy  was  a  trusty  agent  in  the  cause  he 
undertook  ;  that  uninfluenced  by  his  preconceived  notions, 
and  in  the  very  teeth  of  his  wishes  he  saw  England  was 
beyond  the  reach  of  revolutionary  influence,  and  pointed 
out  the  reason  why.  Let  the  reader  mark  the  calm  and 
judicious  observation  of  the  man,  for  in  due  time  another 
letter  of  his  will  appear,  describing  the  state  of  Ireland  ; 
and  the  influence  of  that  letter  will  be  the  greater  by  re- 
membering the  foregoing  one,  and  bearing  in  mind  that 
the  same  man,  exercising  the  same  observation,  and  with 
the  same  desire  to  ascenain  the  real  probability  of  success 
in  a  revolutionary  movement,  is  the  writer.  The  wishes 
and  hopes  of  the  republican  were  utterly  overthrown  by 
the  security  and  prosperity  of  England,  but  he  found  in 
the  misery  and  misrule  of  Ireland,  the  ready  materials  for 
a  country's  convulsion. 


f/  RORY   O'MORE. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A  Man  of  Law  and  Physic 
"He  was  a  man  to  all  the  country  dea)'." 

De  Lacy's  fever  continued  to  rage,  and  his  ravings  to 
proceed  in  their  usual  course.  Two  things  were  in  his 
favor  ;  his  fury  at  the  red  cloth  obliged  the  Widow  O'More 
to  give  up  t/iat  hope  of  recovering  her  patient ;  and  all  her 
ingenuity  could  not  induce  him  to  take  whiskey,  even  in 
the  most  diluted  form.  Sometimes,  when  the  poor  sufferer 
had  been  calling  for  drink  for  some  time,  the  cunning 
prescriber  would  enter  with  a  vessel  of  liquid  containing  a 
portion  of  the  favorite  medicine,  and  hoping  that  the  anx- 
iety for  any  alleviation  of  thirst  would  make  him  swallow 
it  without  examination,  she  would  say,  "  Now,  dear,  here 
'tis  for  you.     Dhrink  it  up  at  once — dhrink  it  up  big!  " 

Poor  De  Lacy  would  seize  the  vessel  with  avidity,  and 
make  a  rush  with  open  mouth  upon  it  ;  but  the  moment 
the  presence  of  whiskey  was  apparent,  he  would  refuse  it. 
In  mere  charity,  at  last,  though  without  any  hope  of  doing 
him  good,  the  widow  made  him  some  plain  two-milk-whey, 
and  this  he  swallowed  with  that  fierce  desire  for  drink  that 
the  thirst  of  fever  or  the  desert  only  knows. 

Rory  procured  the  drugs  his  mother  ordered  at  the  vil- 
lage, and  brought  them  back  to  her  with  all  the  speed  that 
might  be.  What  they  were  it  is  needless  to  know,  and 
perhaps  the  faculty  might  or  might  not  be  benefited  by 
the  knowledge  ;  but  as  vaccination  has  triumphed  over  the 
terrible  plague  that  then  scourged  mankind,  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  seek  what  were  the  nostrums  the  widow  employed 
in  her  medical  capacity. 

"  Who  do  you  think  did  I  meet  at  M'Garry's  to-day, 
whin  I  wint  there  for  the  physic?"  said  Rory  on  his  re- 
turn. 

"  Arrah,  who  thin  ?  "  said  his  mother. 

"  Sweeny ! " 

"  Is  it  Sweeny  ?  " 

"Divil  a  less!" 

**  I  wondher  he  isn't  ashamed  to  go  to  the  place,  the 
iirty  scut  !  His  father  was  a  'pottekerry,  and  he  must  turn 
.'itturney  ;  and  instead  of  follyin'  his  dacent  father's  busi- 
ness before  him,  and  attindin'  to  the  'pottekerryin',  its  the 


RORY    OWTORE.  63 

'turneyin'  he  must  be  afther — bad  luck  to  him  !— and  in- 
stead of  doin'  people  good,  and  curin'  thim  of  anything 
might  come  over  thim,  he's  doin'  thim  all  the  harm  ho 
can,  and  laving  them  without  anything  over  them — not  as 
much  as  a  blanket,  much  less  a  house.  His  father  used  to 
cause  ructions,-''  but  he's  risin'  them  ;  and,  as  I  said  be- 
fore, I  wondher  he's  not  ashamed  to  go  into  the  owld  shop, 
for  it  ought  to  remind  him  that  he  might  be  a  dacent  'pot- 
tekerry,  instead  of  a  screit'ging  'turney,  as  he  is  :  and  more 
betoken,  the  dirty  little  'turney  to  set  up  to  be  a  gintle- 
man,  and  for  that  same  to  change  his  blessed  and  holy  re- 
ligion, and  turn  prod'stant  !  Oh  !  the  little  vagabone  !  " 

Now  it  will  be  seen  the  widow  wound  up  her  philippic 
against  Sweeny  by  placing  the  heaviest  offence  the  last, 
"He  turned  prod^stant  ;"  this  was  the  great  crime  in  the 
widow's  eyes,  and  indeed  in  those  of  most  of  the  people  of 
her  class.  Sweeny  might  have  robbed  all  Ireland,  and 
suffered  less  in  their  opinion  than  by  the  fact  of  his  going 
to  church.  Poor  Ireland  ! — the  great  question  of  a  man's 
vice  or  virtue,  fitness  or  unfitness,  talent  or  stupidity, 
wisdom  or  folly,  treason  or  loyalty,  was  answered  in  those 
days  by  the  fact  of  whether  he  went  to  a  Protestant  church 
or  a  Catholic  chapel.  The  two  sects  disliked  each  other 
equally  ;  but  the  Protestant  born  and  bred  was  not  half  so 
much  loathed  as  the  apostate  who  renounced  the  faith  of 
his  fathers  for  the  "  flesh-pots  of  Egypt  ;"  and  the  Roman 
Catholics  were  the  more  jealous  of  this  defection,  because 
they  never  had  any  converts  from  the  Protestants  in  return, 
and  for  the  best  reason  in  the  world — there  was  nothing  to 
be  made  by  it. 

Now  it  was  by  a  process  of  consecutive  reasoning  that 
Sweeny  had  renounced  physic  and  popery,  and  assumed 
the  attorney  and  ascendency.  He  gave  up  the  healing  art 
because  he  saw  his  father  could  make  nothing  of  it.  How 
could  he  ?  When  a  population  is  so  poor  as  not  to  be 
able  to  afford  the  necessaries  of  life,  they  cannot  be  ex- 
pected to  command  the  remedies  against  death  ;  if  they 
cannot  buy  bread,  they  will  hardly  buy  physic.  So  Sweeny 
the  younger  turned  his  attention  toward  the  law,  which  is 
an  amusement  that  those  who  have  something  to  lose  deal 
in  ;  and  therefore  belongs  more  to  the  richer  classes — or, 
as  they  call  themselves,  the  better  classes. 

Now  as  these  better  {alias  richer)  classes  in  Ireland  were 
on  the  side  of  the  Protestants,  Sweeny  thought  that  con- 

*  Ruction  signities  a  breaking  out,  a  disturbance. 


64  RORY  0\MORE. 

forming  to  the  church  as  by  law  established  would  be  a 
move  in  his  favor,  and  accordingly  he  (to  use  the  words  of 
a  paragraph  in  one  of  the  government  papers  of  the  day) 
"renounced  the  errors  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  em- 
braced those  of  the  Church  of  England." 

He  had  lived  long  enough  witli  his  father  to  pick  up  a 
few  words  of  apothecary  Latin,  and  these  he  mixed  with  a 
vile  jargon  of  his  own,  which  he  imposed  on  people  for 
medical  knowledge  ;  and  although  as  ignorant  as  a  horse 
in  every  way,  he  had  the  impudence  to  enact  the  amateur 
doctor,  and  gave  advice  gratis  in  physic  to  his  clients  in 
law.  This  dabbling  in  doctoring  permitted  him  to  indulge 
in  a  ruling  propensity  of  his  nature,  which  was  curiosity  ; 
while  he  played  the  doctor,  he  could  play  the  inquisitor  ; 
and  by  his  joint  possession  of  cunning  and  impudence,  it 
is  surprising  how  he  used  to  ferret  out  intelligence.  He 
seldom  ventured  on  giving  prescriptions  of  his  own,  and 
to  avoid  this,  he  always  recommended  some  patent  medi- 
cine, a  supply  of  which  he  kept  by  him  to  furnish  to  his 
friends,  and  he  charged  them  a  handsome  profit  on  the 
same.     He  would  say  : 

"  My  dear  ma'am,  don't  be  going  to  that  dreadful 
M'Garry  !  You'll  ruin  your  health — your  precious  health  ! 
you  can't  depend  upon  his  drugs  at  all  ;  he  hasn't  them 
pure — how  could  he,  poor  creature  ?  I  would  give  you  a 
recipe  if  his  drugs  could  be  depended  upon  ;  but  they  pos- 
itively cannot.  Suppose  now,  my  dear  ma'am — suppose 
your  little  nerves  get  out  of  order,  and  I  wished  to  give 
you  something  of  an  aUiiviating  nature,  I  might  wish  to  ex- 
hibit a  small  dose  of  hippopota/nus,  and  most  likely  he,  not 
having  the  article  in  his  cornucopia,  might  give  you  vox 
popidi.  Now,  only  fancy  your  swallowing  vox  poptdi  in- 
stead of  hippopotamus !  There's  no  knowing  what  the  con- 
sequence might  be  ;  perhaps  utter  prostitution — prostitu- 
tion of  strength,  I  mean — only  fancy  !  I  tell  you  M'Garry 
is  dangerous  ;  besides,  M'Garry  keeps  the  post-office — and 
how  can  a  man  mind  the  post  and  his  profession  ?  or,  as 
the  squire  most  fassyetiously  said  the  other  day,  '  How  can 
he  be  at  his  two  posts  at  "  once  ?  "  '  Ha,  ha  !  Very  good 
— wasn't  it  ?  Capital,  /think.  But  to  be  serious,  M'Garry's 
dangerous  ;  he'd  better  throw  his  physic  to  the  dogs  as  the 
Bard  of  Devon  says,  for  'tis  fit  for  no  one  else.  You  had 
better  let  me  send  you  a  little  box  of  pills,  and  a  bottle  of 
that  thing  I  sent  you  before;  they  ^xq patent  medicines, 
and  must  be  good.     You  liked  the  last — didn't  you  ?   Tastes 


RORY   O'MORE.  65 

rather  strong,  you  say,  so  much  the  better — make  you 
strong  ;  very  nice,  though.  It  is  an  expensive  medicine, 
rather;  but  what  o' that  in  comparison  to  your  precious 
health  ?     Better  than  being  poisoned  with  vox  popiili." 

Thus  would  this  impudent  and  ignorant  vagabond  talk 
this  vile  rubbish  to  the  fools  who  would  let  him  send  them 
his  patent  medicines,  and  charge  them  in  his  bill. 

When  Sweeny  saw  Rory  O'More  getting  drugs  at 
M'Garry's,  he  asked  him  who  was  ill.  Rory,  not  liking 
him,  and  aware  of  his  prying  nature,  wished  for  reasons  of 
his  own  that  he  should  not  know  for  whom  they  were  in- 
tended, as  he  thought  it  possible  the  animal  might  pay  a 
visit  to  the  cottage  on  the  plea  of  giving  advice,  and  see 
the  stranger,  and,  what  would  be  worse,  /lear  him  raving 
too  ;  and  Rory's  surmises  as  to  the  profession  of  his  guest 
made  him  anxious  that  this  should  not  be.  He  accord- 
ingly evaded  all  the  questions  of  the  medical  attorney  as 
well  as  he  could,  and  left  him  without  giving  him  any  in- 
formation on  the  subject.  But  this  was  quite  enough  to 
excite  Sweeny's  suspicion,  and  set  his  curiosity  craving ; 
and  so  he  rode  out  the  next  day  to  pay  Rory's  home  a  visit, 
and  ferret  out  the  mystery.  On  arriving  at  the  house,  he 
Imng  his  horse's  bridle  reins  over  a  hook  near  the  door, 
and  bolted  into  the  cottage  at  once.  Rory,  his  mother, 
and  sister  were  all  there  ;  therefore,  it  was  a  plain  case 
that  none  of  the  family  were  ill. 

*'  Good-morrow,  widow,"  said  Sweeny  in  his  politest 
manner — "  glad  to  see  you  well,  ma'am — and  you,  Mary 
O'More— well  and  hearty  ;  all  well,  T  see — glad  of  it.  I 
was  afraid  someone  was  sick-^saw  Rory  getting  drugs 
yesterday — just  dropt  in  as  I  was  coming  by,  to  see  could 
I  oSer  any  advice  ;  who's  sick  ? " 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Sweeny,  I'm  obleeged,"  said  the  widow 
coldly ;  "  I  just  wanted  a  trifle  o'  physic,  and  so  Rory  wint 
for  it  ;"  and  she  bustled  about,  evidently  having  no  incli- 
nation to  enter  into  conversation  with  him,  and  letting  him 
see  that  such  was  her  intention  ;  but  Sweeny  was  not  to  be 
put  off  so. 

"Can  I  do  anything  in  the  way  of  advice,  Mrs.  O'More  ?  " 

"  Yis,  indeed,  Mr.  Sweeny,  you  can  ;  and  I  think  I'll  be 
going  over  to  you,  to  ask  about  a  little  bit  o'  law  soon,  for 
T  am  having  an  alteration  made  in  my  lase." 

"  Yes,  yes — certainly — law  business — certainly — always 
ready,  Mrs.  O'More  ;  but  I  mean  in  the  medical  way — you 
know  I'm  skilful  in  that  way,  Mrs.  O'More— and  as  there's 


66  RORY  O'MORE. 

someone  sick  here,  if    I  can   be  of  any  use,  I'll  be  most 

happy — most  happy,  Mrs.  O'More." 

The  widow  saw  there  was  no  evading  the  attorney,  and 

so  she  said  a  traveller  had  been  going  on  the  road,  and 

was  taken  ill,  and  they  took  him  in  and  put   him  to   bed  ; 

but  "  it   wouldn't   signify,    plase   God !  and    he'd   be  well 

enough  in  a  day  or  two." 

"  If  I  can  be  of  any  use,  I'll  see  him  with  pleasure." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  but  I  gave  him  something  myself  that 

1  know  will  do  him  good — obleeged  to  you  all  the  same." 

"Is  he  poor  ?"  said  Sweeny. 

"  I  never  asked  him  that,"  said  the  widow,  reproachfully. 

"Of  course — of  course;  but  then  I  mean,  you  might 
guess." 

"Guess!"  said  Rory,  who  had  been  eying  Sweeny  a?! 
this  time  with  a  sidelong  glance  of  contempt— "  Guess ! 
why,  thin  tare  an  ouns  !  do  you  think  the  man's  a  riddl* 
or  a  conundherion,  that  we'd  be  guessin'  at  him  ?" 

All  the  time  this  conversation  was  going  on,  Sweeny 
kept  rolling  his  little  gray  eyes  about  him  ;  and  at  last  he 
spied  De  Lacy's  portmanteau,  and  approaching  it  directly, 
and  laying  hold  of  it,  he  said,  "This  is  the  traveller's  port' 
manteau,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Well,  and  what  if  it  is  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  Oh,  nothing — nothing,"  said  Sweeny,  who  had  turnert 
it  over  and  over  to  look  for  a  name  or  initials  ;  but  there 
were  none  ;  "no  harm  in  my  asking,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Nor  no  good,  either,"  said  Rory. 

"  Only  by  this  portmanteau,  the  traveller  is  a  gentleman 

2  perceive." 

"  Well,  he's  not  the  worse  of  that,"  said  Rory. 

"Anything  I  can  do  for  the  gentleman,  I'll  be  most  hap- 
py," said  Sweeny,  who  always  laid  ^gentleman  under  obli- 
gation if  he  could. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  but  he's  very  comfortable  here,  I  can 
tell  you,  and  sha'n't  want  for  anything,"  said  the  widow. 

"  I've  no  doubt  of  that,  Mrs.  O'More  ;  but  if  I  could  see 
him,  perhaps  I  might  be  able  to  give  some  little  advice.  Is 
he  in  that  room  ?  "  said  Sweeny,  pointing  as  he  spoke. 

"He's  asleep,  and  mustn't  be  disturbed,"  said  Rory. 

Just  at  that  moment  De  Lacy's  raving  took  a  noisy  turn, 
and  he  became  audible  to  Sweeny. 

"There,"  said  Sweeny,  "  he's  awake — now  you  can  let 
me  go  in  ;  "  and  he  was  advancing  to  the  door,  when  Rory 
stepped  between,  and   said  the  patient  shouldn't  be  di& 


RORY  O'MORE,  67 

turbed  ;  at  the  same  time  he  turned  toward  his  mother,  and 
made  a  grimace  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Sweeny  must  not  he 
admitted."  The  widow  grinned,  and  blinked  her  eyes,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  He  shall  not." 

"You  see,  Mr.  Sweeny,"  said  he,  "the  poor  gintleman's 
ravin',  and  doesn't  like  sthrangers." 

"Raving! — ho,  ho! — fever — dangerous,  Mrs.  O'More — 
take  care,  take  care." 

"  I  have  taken  every  care,  sir." 

"  But  fever,  Mrs.  O'More — have  you  given  him  feveresc- 
ing  drinks  ?  " 

"He  has  all  he  wants." 

"  You  should  write  to  his  fric  nds  and  tell  them  ;  he  may 
die,  you  know  ;    I'll  write  to  them  if  you  like." 

"  And  charge  six-and-eight-pence  for  it,"  said  Rory  asid<?. 
"  Do  you  know  his  name  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Rory,  very  short  ;  "k'^  didn't  ax  him  any  im- 
pident  questions." 

"  Rory,  my  man,  don't  be  unreasonable — don't  be  in  a 
passion — may  be  a  person  of  consequence — his  friends  in  a 
state  of  suspense.  He's  raving  ;  now  all  you  have  to  do  Vs 
to  open  his  valise  and  examine  his  papers,  and  find  out  wh<j 
he  is  ;  I'll  do  it  for  you  if  you  like." 

Rory's  rage  now  burst  its  bounds.     The  prying  impertx 
nence  of  Sweeny  he  bore  so  long  as  it  merely  amounted  fi 
his  personal  annoyance  ;  but  when  he  made  the  last  propo- 
sition, Rory  opened  upon  him  furiously. 

"  Why,  thin,  do  you  take  me  for  such  a  mane-sperited 
dog  that  while  a  sick  man  was  on  his  back,  I'd  turn  spy 
and  thief,  and  brake  open  his  portmantle  and  hunt  for  his 
savcrets  ? " 

'"  My  dear  Rory " 

"  Don't  dear  me  !  Dear,  indeed — 'faith  !  it's  chape  you 
howld  me,  if  you  think  I'd  do  sitch  a  dirty  turn — to  be- 
thray  the  man  undher  my  roof  ;  you  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself  ! " 

"  But  it's  a  common  practice." 

"A  common  'turney's  practice,  may  be — or  a  common 
thief's  practice." 
"  Hillo,  Rory  !  " 

**  Oh,  to  the  divil  I  pitch  you  and  your  hillo  ! — I  say  a 
common  thief's  practice,  again — to  break  locks  or  cut  open 
bags,  and  pimp  and  spy  ;  taugh  on  the  man  who  would  do 
the  like.  Troth,  if  I  thought  there  was  one  dhrop  o'  blood 
in  my  body  would  consent  to  it,  I'd  open  my  veins  till  it 


6S  J^ORY  O'MORE. 

was  out.  Oh,  murther,  murther — to  hear  of  sitch  a  schem- 
ing turn  !  If  I  done  such  a  rogue's  thrick,  I'd  hovvld  my- 
self disgraced  to  the  end  of  my  days,  and  think  myself  only 
fit  company  for  Judas." 

Sweeny  was  dumfoundcd  before  the  torrent  of  Rory's 
honest  indignation,  and  was  about  to  make  some  shuffling 
reply,  when  Mary  O'More  entered  the  cottage,  she  having 
left  it  a  moment  before,  and  said  : 

"  Run,  run,  Mr.  Sweeny  !  there's  your  horse  has  got  his 
head  out  of  the  bridle,  and  is  run  into  the  field." 

Now  it  was  Mary  herself  who  had  loosened  the  bridle 
from  the  beast,  and  let  him  escape,  for  the  purpose  of  get- 
ting rid  of  their  troublesome  visitor. 

Sweeny  cut  short  his  discourse,  and  darted  from  the 
house,  pursuing  his  horse  into  the  field,  where  he  arrived 
in  time  to  see  him  rolling  over  in  great  glee,  much  to  the 
benefit  of  a  new  saddle. 

Sweeny  shouted  "  murder  !  "  and  it  was  some  time  before 
the  horse  could  be  caught,  even  with  the  assistance  of  Rory. 
When  he  was  secured,  the  saddle  was  discovered  to  have 
been  split  by  the  horse's  tumbles  ;  and  when  Sweeny  got 
into  his  seat  and  turned  homeward,  he  saw  Mary  O'More 
showing  her  white  teeth  in  a  most  undisguised  laugh  at  the 
result  of  her  trick,  which  Rory  rejoiced  in  equally. 

After  De  Lacy  had  suffered  under  dangerous  fever  for 
some  time,  the  eruption  made  its  appearance,  and  he  was 
soon  out  of  danger.  He  had  no  other  aid  in  his  illness 
than  that  of  the  widow's  simple  remedies,  which,  backed  by 
a  good  constitution,  carried  him  through,  and  now  quiet 
and  patience  were  all  that  he  required. 

As  soon  as  he  recovered  his  senses,  it  was  some  time  be- 
fore he  could  perfectly  understand  how  he  came  to  be  in 
Rory  O'More's  cottage  ;  but  a  few  words  from  his  kind 
host  gradually  gave  the  key  to  memory,  and  he  was  enabled 
to  recall  the  circumstances  that  preceded  his  illness.  After 
this  he  was  for  some  time  silent,  and  then  he  asked  what 
was  the  day  of  the  month.  On  being  told,  he  knit  his 
brow,  and  seemed  to  undergo  some  feelings  of  disappoint- 
ment, to  which  an  expression  of  great  anxiety  succeeded. 

"  O'More,"  said  he,  at  last,  "shut  the  door.  Come  close 
to  me  ;  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question  ;  and  I  charge  you,  as 
you  hope  for  salvation,  to  answer  me  truly.  I  know  I  have 
been  out  of  my  senses,  and  I  suppose  I  talked  a  great  dea^ 
while  I  was  so.  Now  tell  me  honestly,  did  anything  re- 
markable strike  you  in  my  ravings  ?  " 


RORY   O'MORE.  fg 

"Yes,  there  did,  sir,"  said  Rory,  smiling  at  Dc  Lacy,  ai.cl 
looking  straight  into  his  eyes  with  that  honest  look  that 
honesty  alone  can  give. 

There  was  a  soothins;  influence  to  De  Lacv  in  the  ex- 
pression  of  that  smile  and  look,  and  a  peculiar  intelligence 
in  them,  that  showed  him  Rory  knew  the  drift  of  his  ques- 
tion, by  having  fathomed  the  circumstances  of  his  situa- 
tion. 

"  I  am  sure  you  can  guess  what  I  am,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Shoulder  arms — whoo  !  "  said  Rory,  laughing. 

De  Lacy  smiled  faintly  at  Rory's  mode  of  illustrating 
his  knowledge. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  and  you  know  I'm  not 
a  soldier  of  King  George." 

Rory  sang  in  a  low  tone  : 

"Viva  la,  the  Fi-enck  is  coining — 
Viva  la,  our  friends  is  thrue  ; 
Viva  la,  the  French  is  coming — 
"What  will  the  poor  yeoman  do  ?  '' 

De  Lacy  nodded  assent  and  smiled,  and,  after  a  short 
pause,  said,  "You're  a  sharp  fellow,  O'More." 

"  I've  been  blunt  enough  with  you,  sir." 

"  Honest  as  the  sun,"  said  De  Lacy.  "  Now  tell  me  do 
the  women  know  anything  about  this  ?  " 

"  Not  a  taste  ;  they  suspect  you  no  more  nor  the  child 
unborn  ;  only,  Mary  says " 

"What?"  said  De  Lacy,  rather  alarmed. 

"  That  you're  in  love,  sir — beggin'  your  pardon." 

**  Oh  !  that's  all.  Well,  she's  right,'  too.  Why,  you're  a 
sharp  family  altogether." 

"  Divil  a  much  sharpness  in  that,"  said  Rory  ;  "  sure 
whin  there's  the  laste  taste  o'  love  goin',  the  wind  o'  the 
word  is  enough  for  a  woman.  Oh  !  let  them  alone  for 
findin'  out  the  soft  side  of  a  man's  heart ! — the  greatest 
fool  o'  them  all  is  wise  enough  in  such  matters." 

"O'More,"  said  De  Lacy,  after  another  pause,  "you're 
a  United  Irishman." 

Rory  smiled.    "  Now  it's  your  turn  to  be  sharp,"  said  he, 

"  You  are  a  United  man,  then  ? "  said  De  Lacy. 

"  To  the  core  of  my  heart,"  replied  Rory,  with  energy. 

"Then  my  mind's  at  ease,"  said  De  I^acy  ;  and  he  held 
out  his  hand  to  O'More,  who  gave  him  his  in  return,  and 
De  Lacy  shook  it  warmly. 


If  RORY   O'MORE. 

"  God  be  praised,  sir  !  "  said  Rory  ;  "  but  how  does  that 
si/t  your  mind  at  aise  ?  " 

"  Because  you  can  fulfil  a  mission  for  me,    Rory,  that 
olhervvise  must  have  failed  ;  that  is,  if  you'll  undertake  it." 
"  Undhertake  it  !    I'd  go  to  the  four  corners  of  the  earth 
in  a  good  cause." 

"You're  a  brave  fellow  !  "  said  De  Lacy. 
"  But  will  you  tell  me,  sir,"  said  Rory,  "  is  the  French 
comin'  in  airncst  to  help  us  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  of  it,  Rory,  and  jvw  shall  be  the  joyful  mes- 
senger of  their  coming,  by  doing  the  errand  I  wish  for." 
"  Oh  !  but  that'll  be  the  proud  day  for  me,  your  honor!" 
"Well,  then,  there's  no  time  to  lose.      I  asked  you  the 
day  of  the  month  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  my  heart  sunk 
within   me  when  you  told   me  the  date  ;  to-morrow  I  am 

bound   by   promise  to  be   in   the   town  of ,  where   an 

agent  from  France  is  waiting,  who  bears  intelligence  to 
Ireland.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  go  ;  now  will  you  un- 
dertake the  duty,  Rory  ?  " 

"  With  all  the  veins  o'  my  heart  !  "  said  Rory,  "  and  be 
proud  into  the  bargain." 

"Go,  then,"  said   De  Lacy,  "to  the   town   of ,  and 

there  on  the  quay  there's  a  public-house." 
"  Faith  there  is — and  more,"  said  Rory. 
"The  public-house  I  mean  bears  a  very  old  sign." 
"  I'll  be  bound  I  know  it,"  said  Rory,  whose  national 
impatience  would  not  wait  for  De  Lacy's  directions.     "I'll 
engage  it's  the  Cow  and  the  Wheelbarrow." 

"  No,"  said  De  Lacy,  who  could  not  help  smiling  at  the 
oddness  of  the  combination  in  Rory's  anticipated  sign,  "  it 
is  not  ;  but  one  quite  as  queer  ;  the  Cat  and  Bagpipes." 
"Oh,  that's  a  common  sign,"  said  Rory. 
"There  are  a  great  many  very  queer  things  common  in 
Ireland,"  said  De  Lacy,  who  even  in  his  present  weakened 
state  could  not  resist  his  habitual  love  of  remark.  "  You 
are  well  acquainted,  I  see,  with  the  town,"  he  continued. 

"  Indeed,  and  I'm  not,"  said  Rory  ;  "  I  never  was  there 
but  wanst,  and  that  happened  to  be  on  the  quay,  by  the 
same  token,  where  I  remarked  the  Cow  and  the  Wheel- 
barrow, for  it's  a  sign  I  never  seen  afore,  and  is  mighty 
noticeable." 

"  But  that  is  7iot  the  sign  of  the  house  you  are  to  go  to, 
remember." 

"Oh,  by  no  manes,  sir;  the  Cat  and  Bagpipes  is  my 
mark," 


RORY    O'MORE.  71 

"  Yes  !  and  there  about  the  hour  of  six  in  the  evening, 
you  will  see  a  party  of  three  men." 

"  But  if  there's  two  parties  of  three  ? "  said  Rory. 

"You  can  distinguish  our  friends  by  contriving,  in  the 
most  natural  way  you  can — I  mean,  so  as  not  to  excite  ob- 
servation from  any  but  those  who  will  understand  and 
answer  your  signal — to  say  one,  two,  three,  in  their  hearing; 
and  if  those  whom  I  expect  you  to  meet  should  be  there, 
you  will  be  spoken  to  by  them,  and  then  you  must  intro- 
duce into  whatever  you  say  to  them  these  words,  They 
were  very  fine  ducks.  They  will  then  leave  the  public-house, 
and  you  may  trust  yourself  to  follow  wherever  they  lead." 

"  Now,  how  am  I  to  make  sure  that  they  are  right  ?  " 
said  Rory. 

"You  have  my  word  for  their  being  trusty,"  said  De 
Lacy. 

"  Oh,  sir,  sure  it's  not  your  word  I'd  be  doubting  ;  but  [ 
mane,  how  am  I  to  make  sure  that  it  is  the  right  men  / 
spake  to  ?" 

"  Their  noticing  your  remark  will  be  sufficient  ;  but  as  a 
further  assurance,  they  can  return  you  the  United  man's 
signal  and  grip.  Give  me  your  hand,"  said  De  Lacy,  and 
he  clasped  the  extended  palm  of  Rory. 

'•  That's  the  grip,"  said  Rory,  "  sure  enough.  Wh), 
thin,  how  did  you  come  by  that,  sir?"  said  Rory;  "tare 
alive  !  are  the  French  United  Irishmen  ?" 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  De  Lacy,  smiling  ;  "  but  the  chosen 
know  your  signs.  Now  I've  told  you  all  that's  requisite 
for  your  mission  :  when  you  give  these  signs,  they  whom 
you'll  meet  will  tell  you  what  is  requisite  for  me  to  know, 
and  you  can  bring  me  back  the  intelligence." 

"  I've  no  time  to  lose,"  said  Rory  ;  "  I  must  be  off  to- 
morrow by  the  dawn." 

"  Will  your  mother  or  sister  suspect  anything  from  your 
absence  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  the  thruth  is,  neither  mother  nor  sister  ever 
question  me  about  my  incomin's  or  outgoin's  ;  though  they 
have,  av  course,  observed  I  was  not  always  reg'lar,  women 
is  sharp  enough  in  sitch  matters  ;  but  they  suspect  some- 
thing is  going  on  in  the  counthry  ;  how  could  they  help 
it  ?  but  they  know  it  is  a  good  cause,  and  that  they  have  no 
business  to  meddle  with  it ;  and  so  the  fewer  questions 
they  ask  they  think  it  is  the  betther.  They  know  men  must 
do  what  becomes  men  ;  and  though  the  mother  and  sister 
loves  me  as  well  as  ever  a  son  or  brother  was  loved  in  this 


72  RORY  O'MORE. 

wide  world,  they  would  rather  see  me  do  what  a  man 
ought  to  do,  and  die,  than  skulk  and  live  undher  dis- 
grace." 

De  Lacy  was  touched  by  this  simple  expression  of  the 
chivalrous  feelings  which  existed  thoughout  this  humble 
family,  and,  after  Rory  assuring  him  he  would  do  his  mis- 
sion, and  telling  him  to  "  keep  never  tmnding  "  to  the  mother, 
he  took  his  instructions  once  more,  and  recommended  De 
Lacy  to  go  to  sleep. 

It  was  evening  ;  so  Rory  bade  his  guest  good-night. 
"You  won't  see  me  again  till  afther  I  come  back  ;  make 
yourself  aisy,  sir.  The  thing  will  be  done,  depend  upon 
that  ;  above  all,  say  nothing  to  the  mother  ;  she'll  ask  me 
no  questions,  and  I'll  tell  her  no  lies."  With  this  wise  say- 
ing, Rory  left  De  Lacy,  who  soon  slept,  from  the  fatigue 
which  the  excitement  he  had  just  gone  through  produced. 


CHAPTER    VIIL 

"Britannia  Rules  the  Waves." 


It  was  in  the  gray  of  a  fine  autumnal  morning,  about  a 
fortnight  previously  to  the  scene  and  time  just  recorded, 
that  a  swift  lugger  was  seen  dashing  the  sprays  from  her 
beaiitiful  bows  as  she  sailed  through  a  fleet  of  stately 
men-of-war  that  lay  in  the  Texel.  The  lugger  made  for  the 
shore,  and  wiien  close  in,  dropped  her  anchor  ;  and  her 
small  boat  being  lowered  from  lier  stern,  three  men  en- 
tered it,  and  it  was  pulled  swiftly  to  the  beach.  To  one 
who  knew  not  that  a  craft  like  the  lugger  required  a  nu- 
merous crew,  it  might  have  been  supposed,  when  those 
three  men  left  her  side,  that  every  living  thing  had  de- 
parted from  her,  for  the  stillness  which  prevailed  within 
her  was  profound.  There  she  lay  on  the  placid  water, 
quiet  as  the  element  she  floated  on,  without  a  sign  or  a 
sound  to  indicate  that  she  was  the  den  of  many  a  daring 
ruffian. 

About  noon,  the  boat  reapproached  the  lugger,  with  two 
additional  persons,  and  after  hailing  her,  and  remaining  a 
few  minutes  under  her  quarter,  again  pushed  off,  and  made 
for  the  centre  of  the  fleet,  where  the  flag  of  Admiral  De 
Winter  floated  from  the  mast  of  the  Vryheid — a  splendid 
seventy-four. 


HORY  CMORE.  7^ 

Three  persons  from  the  boat  went  up  the  side  of  the  ad- 
miral's ship,  two  of  whom  were  admitted  to  the  admiral's 
cabin  ;  the  third,  the  commander  of  the  lugger,  waited  on 
the  deck  until  those  he  brought  from  the  shore  should 
command  his  presence  below.  And  these  two  were  per- 
sons whose  names  are  well-known  in  the  eventful  history 
of  the  period,  and  on  their  heads  was  the  price  of  blood 
— Theobald  Wolfe  Tone,  and  Lewines  ;  the  former  an 
exile  for  some  time  from  his  country,  and  the  other  more 
recently  an  envoy  from  the  executive  of  the  disaffected 
party  in  Ireland.  Tone  had  obtained  rank  in  the  French 
army,  and  was  at  that  moment  on  the  ctat  major  of  the  ar- 
mament destined  for  the  invasion  of  the  kingdom  of  Great 
Britain,  though  at  what  point  that  invasion  might  take 
place  was  not  as  yet  decided — it  being  matter  of  disputt^ 
whether  the  expedition  should  land  on  the  English  coast 
or  in  Ireland  ;  whether  it  should  strike  at  the  vitals  cf 
Great  Britain,  or  assail  her  from  the  extremities. 

General  Hoche,  who  was  only  second  in  fame  to  Bona- 
parte, was  anxious  to  do  something  brilliant,  while  th; 
fame  of  his  rival's  Italian  campaigns  made  Europe  riuj^ 
with  wonder  ;  and  as  the  prevalence  of  contrary  winds  haii 
prevented  the  expedition  sailing  for  some  weeks  for  Ire- 
land, he  made  the  daring  proposal  of  landing  in  Lincoln- 
shire, and  marching  direct  on  London.  A  year  before,  his 
expedition,  which  sailed  from  Brest  for  Ireland,  was  ut- 
terly defeated  by  contrary  winds  ;  and  as  the  same  element 
seemed,  as  usual,  to  interpose  a  providential  barrier  be- 
tween England  and  her  foes,  he,  with  that  impatient 
thought  so  characteristic  of  genius,  suggested  the  idea 
that  as  the  wind  did  not  blow  in  favor  of  the  course  they 
wanted  to  steer,  they  should  make  it  subservient  to  an- 
other purpose,  descend  on  the  most  open  quarter,  and 
trust  to  the  fortune  of  war  ;  for  he  burned  that  some  great 
achievement  of  his  should  prevent  his  name  being  over- 
shadowed by  the  freshly  springing  laurels  of  Napoleon 
Bonaparte. 

Against  this  preposterous  notion  of  carrying  England 
by  a  coup  de  mam,  Tone  had  always  argued  strenuously  ; 
but  he  found  such  a  singular  ignorance  of  the  state  of 
England,  as  well  as  Ireland,  to  exist  among  the  French 
that  it  was  with  great  difficulty  he  could  make  General 
Hoche  listen  to  a  word  against  his  newly-conceived  expe- 
dition. It  was,  therefore,  with  great  pleasure  he  had  the 
letter  of  De  Lacy,  bearing  so  strongly  on  this  point,  pui 


74  HORY  O'MORE. 

into  his  hands  that  morning  by  the  commander  of  the  hig- 
ger,  and  he  lost  no  time  in  laying  it  before  the  authorities 
in  command  of  the  expedition,  to  dissuade  tliem  from  a 
course  that  he  knew  could  be  no  other  than  ruinous. 

When  he  and  Lewines  entered  the  cabin  of  the  admiral, 
General  Hoche  and  Daendells  were  looking  over  a  map  of 
England  ;  and  Admiral  De  Winter,  with  his  second  in 
command.  Admiral  Storey,  were  examining  charts  of  the 
British  Channel  and  the  North  Sea. 

"  You  see  I've  not  given  it  up  yet,"  said  Hoche,  viva- 
ciously to  Tone. 

"  I  perceive  you  have  not,  general,"  said  the  latter  ;  "but 
I  think  this  will  decide  you  ;"  and  he  presented  to  him  the 
letter  of  De  Lacy. 

Hoche  pounced  upon  it,  and  began  to  devour  its  con- 
tents. He  passed  rapidly  on,  till,  stopping  suddenly,  he 
asked,  "Who  is  this  from?" 

Tone  informed  him  it  was  from  an  agent  of  General 
C'larke,  who  had  been  commissioned  to  inquire  into  the 
truth  of  all  the  statements  Tone  had  made  to  the  Direc- 
tory. 

"  I  remember,"  said  Hoche  ;  and   he  resumed  his  read- 

A  conversation  ensued  in  the  meantime  between  the  ad- 
mirals and  the  Irish  emissaries  until  it  was  interrupted  by 
Hoche  exclaiming  impatiently,  "  Que  diable !  what  have 
carved  ceilings  and  handsome  apartments  to  do  with  the 
matter  ;  his  oak  ceiling  is  only  good  for  burning  !  what 
nonsense  !  "  And  he  threw  down  the  letter  contemptu- 
ously. 

"  Pray,  go  on,  general,"  said  Tone.  "  There  is  a  good 
deal  of  detail,  certainly,  in  the  communication  ;  but  if  the 
writer  has  been  careful  and  elaborate  in  his  observations, 
it  is  only  fair  to  read  them  all  to  arrive  at  a  just  estimate 
of  his  judgment." 

Hoche  continued  the  reading  of  the  letter,  and,  as  he 
proceeded,  his  face  became  more  thoughtful,  he  read  with 
deeper  attention  ;  and  when  he  had  finished  the  perusal 
he  laid  down  the  letter  in  silence,  as  if  he  had  not  the  heart 
to  say,  "  I  must  give  up  my  expedition,"  although  he  felt 
it  was  hopeless. 

"  You  see,  general,"  said  Tone,  "the  expedition  to  Ire- 
land is  the  only  thing." 

"Whenever  it  can  sail  there,"  said  Hoche. 

"  That  may  be  a  month,"  said  Daendells. 


kORY   O^MORE.  75 

"  Or  to-morrow,"  said  Tone. 

"This  southwesterly  wind  is  blowing  as  if  it  had  set  in 
for  it,"  said  the  admiral,  shaking  his  head,  as  if  he  doubted 
Tone's  hopeful  anticipation. 

"  The  troops  have  been  now  embarked  nearly  a  month," 
said  General  Daendells,  "  and  though  amply  provisioned 
for  the  probable  necessities  of  the  expedition,  it  is  impos- 
sible their  stores  can  last  much  longer  ;  and  whenever  they 
become  exhausted,  I  doubt  how  far  our  government  would 
deem  it  prudent  to  advance  further  supplies." 

"  General  Daendells,"  said  Hoche,  "  it  has  appeared  to 
me,  lately,  that  the  Batavian  republic  seems  to  have  a 
jealousy  that  her  army  should  be  led  by  a  general  of  France 
in  an  affair  that  promises  so  much  glory,  and  I  should 
not  wonder  that  much  further  delay  in  the  sailing  of  the 
expedition  might  prevent  this  noble  undertaking  alto- 
gether. Now,  I  would  not  for  the  glory  of  Caesar  that  my 
personal  fame  should  interfere  with  the  great  cause  of  uni- 
versal freedom  ;  and  if  you  think  that  your  legislative  as- 
sembly would  be  more  willing  to  pursue  this  enterprise  if 
it  were  under  the  command  of  one  of  its  own  generals,  I 
will  withdraw  my  pretensions  to  the  command,  and  give 
all  the  chance  of  the  glory  to  you." 

"  You  are  a  noble  fellow,"  said  Daendells,  extending  his 
hand  to  Hoche  ;  "  there  must  be  some  truth  in  what  you 
say,  and  I  shall  never  forget  this  act  of  generosity  on  your 
part,  for  none  can  deny  that  you,  from  your  efforts  made, 
and  disappointments  endured,  in  this  cause,  deserve  to 
reap  all  the  laurels  that  may  be  mine  in  the  result.  This 
is  the  greatest  of  your  conquests — you  have  triumphed 
over  your  ambition  !  " 

Tone  was  affected  almost  to  tears — he  could  scarcely 
speak  ;  but  struggling  with  his  emotion,  he  said,  "  General, 
my  country  will  never  forget  this  noble  conduct  on  your 
part.  We  know  how  brave  you  are,  but  we  did  not  know 
how  generous  !  " 

"Who  brought  this  letter?"  said  Hoche,  wishing  to 
turn  the  conversation. 

"  De  Welskein,  the  smuggler,"  said  Tone  ;  "  and  he 
wishes  to  know  whether  he  may  promise  speedy  aid  to  the 
sufferers  in  Ireland,  for  they  are  beginning  to  be  impatient 
of  it." 

"  The  moment  the  wind  permits,  they  shall  have  succor," 
said  Daendells.  "Is  it  not  so,  admiral?"  said  he  to  De 
Winter. 


76  J^ORY   O'MORE. 

**  Certainly,"  answered  the  admiral.  "Is  the  smuggler 
on  board  ?  "  added  he,  addressing  Tone. 

"Yes,  admiral." 

"Then  I  wish  to  speak  to  him  ;"  and  the  smuggler  was 
ordered  into  the  admiral's  presence. 

De  Welskein  was  a  Frenchman,  though  bearing  a  Dutch 
name  ;  he  was  one  of  the  many  desperate  characters  that 
the  French  revolution  produced.  A  fellow  of  loose  habits 
and  desperate  fortunes,  he  took  to  smuggling,  as  the  readi- 
est mode  of  indulging  the  one  and  repairing  the  other  ;  he 
had  also  a  love  ior  finesse,  and  a  spirit  of  intrigue,  that  this 
sort  of  life  enabled  him  to  indulge  in  ;  and  he  was  the  most 
active  of  the  agents  in  carrying  on  intelligence  between 
France  and  Ireland  at  that  period — not  that  he  cared  for 
the  Irish,  not  that  he  had  a  moral  sensibility  within  him  to 
desire  the  liberation  of  the  veriest  slave — but  that  it  gave 
him  an  opportunity  to  smuggle  and  intrigue.  Many  a 
turbulent  spirit  in  Ireland  who  longed  for  an  outbreak  of 
rebellion,  and  who  looked  to  France  for  aid,  courted  Mon- 
sieur De  Welskein  as  emissary  from  the  land  of  promise, 
and  he  made  them,  through  this  hold  upon  them,  more 
ready  instruments  in  his  smuggling  speculations. 

Deficient  though  De  Welskein  was  in  any  moral  appre- 
ciation of  the  beauty  of  freedom,  he  babbled  in  the  jargon 
of  his  time  about  it,  and  shouted  ^'■Vive  la  liberie  !  "  because 
his  liberie  meant  the  absence  of  all  restraint,  human  or 
divine  ;  and  he  had  a  sort  of  confused  notion  that  a  revo- 
lution was  glorious,  and  that  it  was  the  business  of  the 
grande  naiion  to  revolutionize  the  world  in  general,  but  Ire- 
land in  particular,  because  it  gave  him  a  good  opportunity 
for  smuggling  brandy  and  tobacco. 

There  was  a  species  of  melodramatic  fancy  about  the  fel- 
low too — a  propensity  for  romance  and  adventure,  that  his 
connection  with  Ireland  gratified.  Besides,  it  indulged  his 
vanity,  as,  in  his  present  situation.  Monsieur  Eugene  St. 
Foix  de  Welskein  was  no  small  personage  in  his  own  opin- 
ion :  he  rhodomontaded  about  the  faie  of  empires  and  the 
desiinies  of  nalions,  as  if  he  were  a  sucking  Jupiter,  or  one 
of  the  French  Directory. 

His  names,  too,  were  a  source  of  rejoicing  to  him — Eu- 
gene St.  Foix.  The  former  he  inherited  from  his  father  ; 
the  latter  was  the  maiden  name  of  his  mother,  who  was  a 
washerwoman.  De  Welskein  he  did  not  much  like  ;  so 
that  his  companions,  when  they  wished  to  vex  him,  called 
•lim  by  his  surname,  while  in  moments  of  friendship  they 


ROHY   O'MORE.  77 

addressed  him  as  Eugene  ;  but  when  they  courted  hiai,  the 
title  of  St.  Foix  was  the  one  they  preferred.  To  be  sure, 
they  sometimes  called  him,  behind  his  back,  Sans  Foi;  but 
in  his  presence  he  was  fond  of  having  his  courage  celebrat- 
ed under  the  name  of  Sans  Petir  ;  St.  Foix  sans  peur  was  a 
flattering  address  sometimes  made  to  him — but  though  St. 
Foix  was  certainly  sans  peur,  he  was  not  sans  reproche. 

When  De  Welskein  entered  the  cabin,  Admiral  De  Win- 
ter asked  him,  had  he  seen  the  Englisli  fleet  ? 

He  answered  that  he  had  passed  them  in  the  night. 

"  Then  you  could  not  count  the  number  of  their  ships  ? " 
said  the  admiral. 

"  J  was  sufficiently  near  in  the  morning  to  see  them," 
said  the  smuggler,   "  and  I  think  they  are  eighteen  sail." 

"  Eighteen — are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  I  think,  eighteen  ;  I'm  almost  sure." 

"  Frigates,  or  line-of-battle  ?  " 

"  Most  line-of-battle." 

"  I  see  he  has  observed  them,"  said  the  admiral,  "for  I 
could  perceive,  even  from  the  harbor,  with  a  glass,  that 
they  were  all  line-of-battle — but  I  could  only  make  out  fif- 
teen, they  must  have  been  reinforced.  Some  of  their  ships 
were  in  mutiny  at  the  Nore ;  perhaps  the  mutiny  has  been 
suppressed,  and  that  accounts  for  the  increase  of  num- 
bers." 

''That's  unlucky,"  said  Tone. 

"  How  unlucky,  sir  ?  "  said  Storey. 

"As  long  as  our  fleet  had  a  superiority,  there  was  a  chance 
we  could  force  our  passage  ;  but " 

"Sir,"  said  Storey,  "you  mistake  very  much  if  you  think 
we  would  shrink  from  contending  with  an  equal,  or  even 
superior  number  of  the  enemy.  I  wish  for  nothing  better 
than  to  be  broadside  to  broadside  with  them." 

This  was  the  bravado  of  the  man  who,  in  about  a  month 
after,  deserted  De  Winter  in  his  engagement  with  that 
identical  fleet,  and  literally  ran  aivay  with  his  division  of 
the  Dutch  force  from  the  enemy  he  vaunted  himself  so 
eager  to  engage.      So  much  for  braggarts  ! 

"  Pardon  me,  admiral,"  said  Tone  ;  "  I  hope  neither  you 
nor  Admiral  De  Winter" — and  he  bowed  deferentially  to 
that  gallant  officer,  as  if  it  were  to  him  rather  than  to  Storey 
he  apologized — "  I  hope  you  do  not  suppose  me  so  un- 
\Torthy  as  to  undervalue  the  bravery  of  the  Dutch  navy,  at 
the  same  time  that  I  consider  it  a  matter  of  importance  we 
should  reach   Ireland  without  an  engagement,  as  by  that 


yS  RO/?y   CMORE. 

means  our  force  will  be  undiminished  ;  and  I  wish  that  the 
army  landed  should  be  as  large  as  possible,  for  the  aftai.- 
will  be  the  sooner  decided,  and  thus  an  effusion  of  blood 
will  be  spared — and  I  wish  from  my  heart  that  in  my  poor 
country  as  little  blood  as  possible  may  be  shed." 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Hoche  ;  '■^ you  can't  make  ofnelettes  witJioui 
breaking  of  eggs." 

"Adjutant-general,"  said  De  Winter  to  Tone,  "  I  do  not 
misapprehend  you  ;  there  is  no  denying  that  the  English 
flre  a  brave  enemy,  and  Admiral  Duncan  is  a  gallant  and 
able  officer.  I  shall  not  seek  an  encounter  with  him  until 
I  land  your  expedition — but  I  shall  certainly  not  shun  it." 

Thus  spoke  the  man  of  true  courage,  who  fought  his 
ships  gallantly  in  the  subsequent  action,  even  after  the  de- 
fection of  the  braggart  who  deserted  him. 

Tone  tapped  General  Hoche  on  the  shoulder,  and  led 
him  apart  for  a  few  words  in  private  ;  the  door  being  open 
that  led  to  the  stern  gallery,  they  walked  forth,  and  Tone 
began  an  energetic  address,  requesting  the  general  to  dis- 
suade the  admiral  as  much  as  possible  from  an  engagement 
with  the  English  fleet.  "  Let  the  troops  be  landed  in  Ire- 
land," said  he  ;  "on  the  land  you  are  invincible,  as  the 
English  are  on  the  seas.  Fate  seems  to  have  given  to  them 
the  dominion  of  the  ocean.  Mark  me — my  words  are  pro- 
phetic— so  sure  as  this  fleet  shall  engage  the  English,  so 
surely  shall  it  be  beaten  !  " 

"  De  Winter  is  an  able  officer,"  said  Hoche. 

"  He  is,"  said  Tone,  "  and  a  brave  man,  lam  certain,  from 
his  moderate  manner  ;  while  I  doubt  very  much  the  cour- 
age of  that  flourishing  gentleman.  But  have  we  not  the 
example  of  repeated  engagements  to  show  us  that  Great 
Britain  is  an  over  match  for  every  nation  on  the  seas  ?  and 
it  makes  my  blood  boil  to  think  that  while  her  fleets  are 
freely  manned  by  Irishmen,  the  land  that  gives  them  birth 
groans  beneath  her  oppression.  Ireland  helps  to  gather 
laurels  for  Britain's  brows,  but  not  a  leaf  of  tiiechaplet  is 
given  to  her  ;  she  shares  in  winning  the  victories  that  en- 
rich and  aggrandize  the  Queen  of  the  Ocean,  but  is  allowed 
no  portion  of  the  fame  or  the  prosperity." 

"  Be  not  thus  agitated,"  said  Hoche,  soothingly,  touched 
by  the  fierce  enthusiasm  with  which  Tone  uttered  the  lat- 
ter part  of  his  address  :  "When  once  this  armament  lands 
in  Ireland,  there  is  an  end  of  Great  Britain's  domination." 

"Ay,  7vhcn  it  lands,"  said  Tone,  with  a  voice  in  which  im- 
patience and  hopelessness  were  strangely  blended.    "  Oh  1 " 


RORY  O' 31  ORE.  75 

said  he,  stretching  out  his  hands  to  the  expanse  of  sea  and 
sky  before  him — "  Oli  !  ye  elements — ye  mysterious  agents 
o\  Heaven  !  why  do  ye  interpose  your  potent  shield  of  air 
and  foam  between  England  and  her  foes  ?  You  blasted  the 
Armada  of  Spain  ;  I  saw  you  scatter  the  ships  of  France  at 
Bantry  ;  and  now  this  gallant  fleet,  with  fifteen  thousand 
chosen  men,  who  burn  for  the  liberation  of  my  country,  is 
chamed  here  by  an  adverse  wind  for  a  whole  month  !  Ire- 
land my  country,  I  fear  you  are  doomed." 

His  hands  dropped  to  his  side,  his  head  sunk  on  his 
chest,  and  he  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 

"  Rally,  man — rally  !  "  said  Hoche,  slapping  him  on  the 
shoulder  ;  "  why,  adjutant-general,  I  have  never  seen  you 
thus  before  !  " 

"W.ienever  I  think  of  the  fate  of  that  unhappy  coun- 
try, it  breaks  my  heart  !  But  I've  done  ;  only,  for  God's 
sake.  General  Hoche,  dissuade  them  from  a  sea-fight ;  W'e 
are  ruined  if  they  attempt  it." 

Hoche  and  Tone  now  re-entered  the  cabin.  They  found 
De  Winter  and  Daendells  giving  instructions  to  the  smug- 
gler. De  Winter  desired  him  to  put  himself  in  the  way  of 
the  English  fleet,  and  give  them  some  false  information. 
It  was  planned  that  De  Welskein  should  pass  the  English 
squadron  in  the  night,  and  toward  morning  sail  back  again, 
as  if  he  came  up  channel,  and  tell  the  English  admiral  that 
he  saw  a  French  fleet  at  the  channel's  mouth  ;  this  might 
give  him  an  idea  that  the  Brest  fleet  had  got  out  to  sea, 
which  would  serve  to  divide  his  attention,  and  possibly 
draw  him  further  off  the  coast,  and  leave  a  passage  from 
the  Texel  more  open,  in  case  the  wind  should  change  so 
as  to  favor  such  a  movement. 

General  Daendells  told  him  to  assure  the  Irish  of  speedy 
succor,  for  that  fifteen  thousand  men  were  embarked  for 
that  service,  and  only  w'aited  a  fair  wind  to  sail.  A  few- 
lines  to  De  Lacy,  from  Hoche,  was  all  the  writing  the 
smuggler  bore,  and  he  left  the  ship  on  his  mission. 

Such  were  the  plans  that  were  proposed  ;  such  were  the 
promises  made.     What  was  the  result  ? 

The  wind  continued  foul  a  fortnight  longer  ;  in  all,  six 
weeks.  The  provisions  for  so  large  a  number  of  troops, 
as  well  as  seamen,  became  exhausted  ;  the  troops  were  re- 
landed  ;  the  expedition  to  Ireland  was  given  up — and  Eng- 
land again  was  spared  the  danger  of  a  formidable  invasion 
into  a  disaffected  portion  of  her  kingdom. 

The  night  the  troops  were  disembarked.  Tone  went  to  his 


8o  RORV   O'MORE. 

tent  with   a  heavy  heart ;  the   next  morning  he  saw  the 
pennants  of  the  fleet  turned  toward  England. 

The  breeze  which  the  day  before  would  have  made  his 
blood  dance,  had  he  felt  it  on  the  deck  of  the  Vryheid, 
now  only  made  his  heart  sick  ;  he  stood  on  the  beach  like 
one  possessed.  After  remaining  motionless  for  some  min- 
utes, he  stamped  fiercely,  clinched  his  teeth,  struck  his- 
forehead  with  his  hand,  and  walked  rapidly  away  ;  but  ere 
he  descended  a  slight  declivity  that  shut  out  the  bay,  he 
turned  round  and  cast  a  look  of  despair  toward  his  coun- 
try. 

Thus  ended  the  second  expedition  imdertaken  for  the 
invasion  of  Ireland  :  and  the  gallant  Hoche,  within  a 
month  after,  was  no  more — cut  off  in  his  prime  of  man- 
hood and  career  of  glory  by  the  hand  of  the  assassin !  * 
And  what  was  the  fate  of  the  fleet  ? 

Admiral  De  Winter,  the  October  following,  sailed  from 
the  Texel,  met  the  English  squadron  under  Admiral  Dun- 
can, and  fought  like  a  hero  ;  but  Storey  deserted  him. 
De  Winter,  nevertheless,  maintained  a  fierce  engagement 
against  superior  numbers  ;  but  the  prophecy  of  Tone  was 
fulfilled  ;  after  a  well-contested  fight,  the  Dutch  struck 
their  colors,  and  the  flag  of  England  again  floated  tri- 
umphantly over  the  seas. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

The  Pretty  Girl  Milking  her  Cow. 

*'  I  saw  a  young  damsel — 'twas  Noreen  : 

Her  ringlets  did  carelessly  flow. 

Oh !  how  I  adore  you  nia  vourneen. 

Ma  colleen  dhas  crutheen  na  mhbo.''''  , 

RoRV  O'MoRE  left  his  cottage  at  an  early  hour  the  morn- 
ing after  his  conversation  with  De  Lacy.  For  a  few  miles 
he  followed  the  by-road  that  led  from  his  house,  and  then 
struck  into  a  path  through  some  fields,  for  the  purpose  of 
making  the  high-road,  which  was  the  direct  way  to  the 
place  of  his  destination. 

As  he  was  walking  briskly  on,  looking  neither  to   the 

*  Heche's  life  was  attempted  more  than  once.  His  death  was  attributed 
to  slow  poison. 


RORY  O'MORE.  %\ 

right  nor  the  left,  but  quite  absorbed  in  the  contemplation 
of  the  business  he  had  undertaken,  his  attention  was  sud- 
denly arrested  by  hearing  one  of  those  quaint  and  sportive 
melodies  of  his  country  sung  by  a  sweet  voice.  Rory 
paused — he  recognized  the  tones  that  had  so  often  made 
his  heart  thrill  with  pleasure — and  running  up  the  gentle 
hill  before  him,  he  beheld,  as  he  topped  the  summit  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hillock,  seated  under  the  shade  of  a  haw- 
thorn hedge,  a  beautiful  peasant  girl,  whose  song  pro- 
ceeded merrily  while  she  was  milking  her  cows. 

Kathleen  Regan  was  sitting  with  her  back  toward  the 
point  whence  Rory  approached  ;  so  that  he  was  enabled, 
unperceived  by  her,  to  gaze  with  pleasure  on  her  sweet 
figure,  and  listen  to  her  sportive  song  : 

"There's  a  lad  that  I  know,  and  I  know  that  he 

Speaks  softly  to  me, 

The  cushla-ma-chrec. 
He's  the  pride  of  my  heart,  and  he  loves  me  well  ; 
But  who  the  lad  is,  I'm  not  going  to  tell. 

"  He's  as  straight  as  a  rush,  and  as  bright  as  the  stream 

That  around  it  doth  gleam — 

Oh  !  of  him  how  I  dream  ! 
I'm  as  high  as  his  shoulder — the  way  tliat  I  know, 
Is,  he  caught  me  one  day,  just  my  measure  to  show. 

"He  whispered  a  question  one  day  in  my  ear  : 

When  he  breathed  it,  oh  dear,  , 

How  I  trembled  with  fear  ! 
What  the  question  he  asked  was,  I  need  not  confess : 
But  the  answer  I  gave  to  the  question  was,  '  Yes.' 

"  His  eyes  they  are  bright,  and  they  looked  so  kind 
When  I  was  inclined 
To  speak  my  mind  ! 
And  his  breath  is  so  sweet — oh,  the  rose  is  less  ! 
And  how  I  found  it  out — why,  I  leave  you  to  guess." 

The  scene  was  one  to  excite  the  imagination  and  charm 
the  senses  of  one  less  keen  to  such  pleasures  than  Rory.  He 
could  catch  the  soft  scent  of  the  morning  breath  of  the 
cows,  vying  in  fragrance  with  the  woodbine  that  was  peep- 
ing through  the  hedge,  at  the  same  time  that  he  coulJ 
hear  the  sweet  voice  of  the  girl  he  loved,  and  see  her 
bright  ringlets  curl  down  her  graceful  neck  and  beauti- 
fully rounded  shoulders. 

He  watched  her  for  some  moments  in  silent  admiratio,'i, 
9,nd  then  stealing  softly  behind  her  and  suddenly  uttering 
6 


82  RORY   O'MORE. 

"wow!"  the  gill  started,  and  in  her  moment  of  surprise 
Rory  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  snatched  a  kiss.  A 
hearty  box  on  his  ear  followed  the  salute,  with  the  ex- 
clamation : 

"  You  divil !  how  dare  you  ! " 

"■  I  lave  you  to  guess"  said  Rory,  laughing.  . 

"You're  mighty  impident,  so  you  are,  Rory." 

"Arrah!  how  could  I  help  it,  Kathleen,  darlin'?"  said 
Rory,  with  a  look  of  admiration  that  would  have  softened 
the  anger  of  even  a  more  cruel  beauty  than  Kathleen— a 
look  that  appealed  more  strongly  to  the  self-love  of  the 
woman  than  the  liberty  taken  had  startled  her  modesty. 

"You're  very  impident,  so  you  are,"  said  Kathleen,  set- 
tling her  hair,  that  had  been  tossed  into  a  most  becoming 
confusion  over  her  face  in  the  struggle. 

"You  often  towld  me  that  before,"  said  Rory. 

"  It  does  not  do  you  much  good,  thin,"  said  Kathleen. 
"You  hear  me,  but  you  don't  heed  me." 

"  Why,  if  you  go  to  that,  how  can  I  help  myself  ?  Sure 
you  might  as  well  keep  the  ducks  from  the  wather,  or  the 
bees  from  the  flowers,  as  my  heart  from  you,  Kathleen." 

"  Now,  Rory,  lave  off !  " 

"•  By  this  light,  Kathleen  ! " 

"Now  don't  be  goin'  on,  Rory!" 

"There's  not  a  girl " 

"Now  don't  be  makin'  a  fool  o'  yourself  and  me,  too," 
said  Kathleen. 

"If  makin'  you  my  own  would  be  to  make  a  fool  of 
you,  thin  it's  a  fool  I'd  make  you,  sure  enough,"  said 
Rory. 

"Rory,"  said  Kathleen,  rather  sadly,  "don't  be  talkin' 
this  way  to  me — it's  good  for  neither  of  us." 

"Kathleen,  darling!"  said  Rory,  "what's  the  matther 
with  you?"  and  he  approached  her,  and  gently  took  her 
hand. 

"Nothing,"  said  she,  "  nothing— only  it's  foolishness." 
"  Don't  call  honest  love  foolishness,  Kathleen,  dear. 
Sure,  why  would  we  have  hearts  in  our  bodies  if  we 
didn't  love  ?  Sure,  our  hearts  would  be  no  use  at  all  with- 
out we  wor  fond  of  one  another.  Arrah  !  what's  the  mat- 
ther with  you,  Kathleen  ?  " 

"  I  must  go  home,  Rory  ;  let  me  go,  Rory,  dear,"  said 
she,  with  a  touching  tone  of  sadness  on  the  dear,  as  she 
strove  to  disengage  from  her  waist  the  hand  that  Rory  had 
stolen  around  it. 


jRORY  CMORE.  83 

" No,  I  won't  let  you  go,  Kathleen,  ma  vourneen"  said 
Rory,  with  passion  and  pathos,  as  he  held  her  closer  in  his 
embrace.  "You  are  the  girl  that  is,  and  ever  was,  in  the 
very  core  of  my  heart,  and  I'll  never  love  another  but 
yourself.  Don't  be  afraid  that  I'll  change  ;  I'm  young, 
but  I'm  thrue  ;  the  blessed  sun  that  sees  us  both  this  min- 
nit  is  not  thruer  ;  and  he's  a  witness  to  what  I  say  to  you 
now,  Kathleen  asthore,  that  you  are  the  pulse  o'  my  heart, 
and  I'll  never  rest  aisy  till  you're  my  wife." 

Kathleen  could  not  speak.  She  trembled  while  Rory 
made  his  last  address  to  her  ;  her  lip  quivered  as  he  pro- 
ceeded ;  two  big  tear-drops  sprung  to  her  eyes,  and  hung 
on  their  long  dark  lashes,  when  he  called  her  "  pulse  of 
his  heart ;  "  but  when  he  named  the  holy  name  of  wife,  she 
fell  upon  his  neck  and  burst  into  a  violent  flood  of  tears. 

Rory  felt  this  was  a  proof  of  his  being  beloved  ;  but 
'twas  not  the  way  in  which,  from  Kathleen's  sportive  nat- 
ure, he  thought  it  likely  she  would  accept  a  husband  to 
whom  there  was  no  objection  ;  and  while  he  soothed  the 
sobbing  of  the  agitated  girl,  he  wondered  what  could  be 
the  cause  of  her  violent  emotion.  When  she  became  calm 
he  said  :  "  Kathleen,  dear,  don't  be  vexed  with  me  if  I  took 
you  too  sudden  ;  you  know  I'm  none  of  the  coolest,  and 
so  forgive  me,  jewel !  I'll  say  no  more  to  you  now  ;  only 
give  me  an  answer  at  your  own  good  time,  my  darling." 

Kathleen  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  said  :  "  No, 
Rory,  dear  ;  you've   been  plain  with  me,  and  I'll   be  plain 

with  you.     As  for  myself "  she  looked  up  in  his  eyes, 

and  their  soft  and  confiding  expression,  and  the  gentle 
pressure  of  the  hand  that  accompanied  the  look,  told  more 
than  the  words  could  have  done,  which  her  maiden  mod- 
esty forbade  her  utter. 

''You  love  me,  then?"  said  Rory,  with  energy;  and  he 
pressed  her  to  his  heart,  while  she  yielded  her  lips  to  the 
pressure  of  a  kiss  which  the  fire  of  pure  love  had  refined 
from  the  dross  of  passion. 

"  Oh,  Rory — but  my  brother  Shan  !  " 

"Well,  what  o'  that?"  said  Rory. 

"  Oh,  you  know — you  know,"  said  Kathleen,  mournfully. 

"  Yis,  Mary  didn't  take  to  him  ;  but  sure  that's  no  rayson." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  him." 

"  We've  been  rather  cool,  to  be  sure,  since,  but  I  never 
put  coolness  between  me  and  him  ;  and  if  my  sisther 
couldn't  like  him,  sure  that's  no  rayson  to  put  between  you 
and  me." 


84  RORY  O'MORE. 

"Oh,  Rory,  Slian  is  very  dark,  and  I'm  afeard." 
"But  why  should  he  prevent  ourcomin'  together?  Sure, 
isn't  there  your  mother?" 

"  Oh,  but  she's  afeard  of  him,  and " 

"But  how  do  you  know  he  would  make  objections  ?" 
The  poor  girl  blushed  scarlet  as  she  said,  "Why,  to  telt 
you  the  thruth,  and  it's  no  matther  now  that  you  know  it, 
afther  what's  passed  between  us  this  morning  ;  but  Shan 
suspected  I  liked  you,  and  he  warned  me  agen  it,  and 
swore    a   bitter  oath    that    if  ever    I'd   think  of  you,  he'd 


"What?"  said  Rory. 

"  Curse  me,"  said  Kathleen  ;  and  she  shuddered  as  she 
said  it. 

"  God  forgive  him  !  "  said  Rory,  solemnly.  "  But  never 
mind,  Kathleen  ;  I'll  meet  him,  and  I'll  spake  him  fair,  and 
tell  him  tlie  thruth.  And  when  I  spake  to  him  like  a  man, 
he  can't  be  less  of  a  man,  and  he  wouldn't  be  of  so  dark  a 
heart  to  keep  spite  agen  me  because  my  sisther  didn't  love 
him." 

"  It's  the  kind  and  generous  heart  you  have,  Rory  ;  buf, 
I'm  afeai'd  it  would  be  of  no  use  ;  at  all  events,  don't  be  in 
a  hurry  about  it  ;  wait  a  bit,  and  may  be  when  he  comes 
across  some  other  girl  that  will  wane  his  heart  from  the 
owld  love,  he  may  be  aisier  about  it ;  but  at  this  present, 
Rory,  dear,  don't  purtend  that  you  love  me,  nor  let  on 
what  you  said  to  me  this  morning." 

"  It's  hard  to  hide  what's  in  the  heart,"  said  Rory  ;  "  for 
even  if  the  tongue  doesn't  bethray  you,  it  may  peep  out 
of  your  eyes." 

"  But  we  shan't  meet  often,"  said  Kathleen;  "so  there 
will  be  the  less  danger  of  that." 

"That's  hard,   too,"   said   Rory.     "But,    Kathleen,  will 

you "  he  could  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  Kathleen 

caught  his  meaning,  and  said  : 

"  You  couldn't  say  the  words,  Rory — you  were  going  to 
say,  will  I  be  thrue  to  you  ?  Oh,  Rory,  dear  !  I  have  given 
you  my  heart,  because  I  couldn't  help  it,  and  I  trust  to  you 
that  you  have  given  me  yours  ;  and,  oh !  don't  take  it, 
away  from  me  !  I  must  hide  my  love  for  a  time.  I'll  hide 
it  as  a  miser  would  liide  his  gold  ;  and  oh,  Rory  !  don't  let, 
me  find  the  treasure  gone  when  I  may  venture  to  show  it 
to  the  day." 

"  Kathleen,  darling!  while  there's  life  in  my  heart,  it  is 
you  who  are  the  queen  of  it." 


RORY  O'MORE.  85 

"Go,  now,"  said  Kathleen;  "go — don't  stay  longer 
here  ;  I  wouldn't  have  you  seen  for  the  king's  ransom." 

"  May  the  heavens  bless  and  keep  you  !  "  said  Rory  ; 
*' one  more  kiss,  my  own — own  girl  ;"  and  clasping  her  in 
his  arms,  they  bade  each  other  farewell. 

Rory  hurried  on  with  a  rapid  step  that  accorded  with 
the  tumult  of  his  feelings,  and  was  soon  lost  to  Kathleen's 
sight.  She  looked  after  him  while  he  remained  within 
view,  and  then  resumed  her  occupation  ;  but  it  was  in 
silence.  The  sportive  song  had  ceased — the  light-hearted- 
ness  of  the  girl  had  passed  away  even  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  a  deeper  pleasure.  Her  task  ended,  she  took  up 
her  pail,  and  went  her  way  homeward,  but  not  with  the 
elastic  step  with  which  she  had  trodden  the  wild  flowers 
on  her  outgoing. 

When  Rory  gained  the  high-road,  he  pursued  his  way 
mechanically  toward  the  place  of  his  destination,  without 
a  thought  of  the  immediate  business  he  had  in  hand.  His 
brain  was  in  a  whirl,  and  his  heart  in  a  blaze  ;  and  love 
and  Kathleen  Regan  were  the  objects  of  his  thoughts,  and 
not  conspiracies  and  his  mysterious  guest. 

His  approach  to  the  town,  however,  reminded  him  of 
the  object  of  his  mission,  and  he  proceeded  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour  to  the  public  house  indicated  by  De  Lacy. 
It  was  market-day  in  the  town,  so  that  the  public  house 
was  more  crowded  than  on  ordinary  occasions  ;  and  Rory, 
when  he  entered,  saw  many  persons  engaged  in  drinking 
porter  and  whiskey,  but  mostly  the  latter. 

He  cast  his  eyes  about  to  see  if  such  a  group  as  he  was 
instructed  to  look  for  was  there,  and  more  than,  one  party 
of  three  was  present ;  he  therefore  had  to  exercise  his 
sagacity  in  selecting  which  of  the  groups  was  the  one  to 
test  by  his  signal — and  he  was  not  long  in  deciding.  It 
was  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room  where  a  small,  square 
window  admitted  as  much  light  as  could  find  its  way 
through  some  panes  of  greenish  glass,  with  bull's  eyes  in 
the  middle  of  them,  covered  with  dust,  that  three  men 
were  seated  at  a  dirty  table  where  a  congregation  of  flies 
were  finishing  a  pot  of  porter.  The  aspect  of  one  of  the 
men  struck  Rory  to  be  "  outlandish,"  as  he  would  have 
said  himself,  and  the  quick  and  restless  twinkle  of  his  dark 
eye  spoke  of  a  more  southern  climate.  To  this  group 
Rory  approached,  and  looking  round,  as  it  were,  to  see 
where  he  should  sit,  he  asked  permission  of  the  party  to 
take  share  of  their  box — for  the  room  was    divided  into 


j^6  RORY  O'MORE. 

such  compartments.  They  made  room  for  him,  and  Tie> 
taking  up  the  empty  quart-pot  on  whose  dregs  the  flies 
were  regaling,  Icnocked  loudly  with  it  on  the  table  and 
started  the  buzzmg  nuisances  from  their  banquet ;  and, 
being  driven  from  their  pewter  palace,  they  alighted  on 
the  various  little  pools  and  meandering  streams  of  various 
liquids  that  stood  upon  the  filthy  table,  which  seemed  to 
be  left  to  them  as  a  sort  of  patrimony,  as  the  fallen  dates 
are  to  the  wanderers  in  the  East.  The  tender-hearted 
sthreel  who  was  the  Hebe  of  the  house  would  not  have 
robbed  the  poor  flies  of  their  feast  for  the  world,  by  wip- 
ing the  table.     Charity  is  a  great  virtue  ! 

This  dirty  handmaiden  came  in  answer  to  Rory's  thump- 
ing of  the  quart-pot  on  the  board. 

' '  Loose  were  her  tresses  seen. 
Her  zone  unbound." 

Her  foot  was  unsandalled,  too  ;  in  short,  she  was,  as 
Rory  remarked  to  his  neighbor  beside  him,  "loose  and 
careless,  like  the  leg  of  a  pot." 

"  What  do  yiz  want  ? "  says  Hebe. 

"  Something  to  dhrink,"  says  Rory. 

"  Is  it  a  pot,  a  pint,  or  a  crapper  ? "  says  Hebe. 

*'  I'll  jist  take  the  cobwebs  out  o'  my  throath  with  a  pint 
first,"  says  Rory. 

"  I'll  sarve  you  immadietly,"  says  Hebe,  who  took  up 
the  quart,  and  to  save  time  she  threw  out  the  dregs  of  the 
liquor  it  had  contained  on  the  floor,  and  then  held  it  up 
inverted  in  a  most  graceful  manner,  that  it  might  drain  it- 
self clean  for  the  next  customer ;  so  that  her  course  might 
be  tracked  up  and  down  the  room  by  the  drippings  of  the 
various  vessels,  and  thus  she  "  did  her  spiriting  gently, 
dropping  odors,  dropping  wine,"  ale,  and  sper'ts. 

She  returned  soon  with  a  pint  of  porter  to  Rory,  who 
took  out  a  shilling  to  pay  for  it.  "  I'll  throuble  you  for  the 
change,  my  dear,"  said  he. 

Off  she  went  again  to  get  the  change,  and  after  some 
time  again  returned,  bearing  two  quarts  of  porter  in  one 
hand,  and  a  jug  of  punch  hanging  between  the  forefinger 
and  thumb  of  the  other,  while  a  small  roll  of  tobacco  and 
a  parcel  of  halfpence  wei-e  clutched  in  the  i-emaining  fin- 
gers. The  liquids  and  the  tobacco  she  deposited  before  a 
party  that  sat  in  a  box  opposite  to  Rory,  and  then,  advanc- 
ing to  him,  she  flopped  the  halfpence  down  on  the  table 


RORY   O'MORE.  87 

before  him,  and  putting  her  hand  to  her  mouth,  pulled  out 
of  it  a  piece  of  tin  which  she  was  pleased  to  call  sixpence, 
and  sticking  it  on  the  top  of  the  halfpence,  she  said, 
"  There's  your  change,  sir." 

"  It's  a  tinker  you  have  to  make  change  for  you,  I  b'lieve," 
said  Rory. 

"  How  is  it  a  tinker  ?  "  said  the  damsel. 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  take  that  piece  of  tin  from  you  for  the 
world,"  said  Rory  ;  "  you  might  want  it  to  stop  a  hole  in  a 
saucepan,  and  may  be  it's  coming  afther  me  you'd  be  for 
it." 

"  I'd  be  long  sorry  to  folly  you,"  said  the  damsel,  sauci- 
ly, and  turning  away. 

"See,  young  woman,"  said  Rory,  "don't  be  in  sitch  a 
hurry,  if  ye  plaze.  I  gave  you  a  good  hog,*  and  I'll 
t-hrouble  you  for  a  good  taisther." 

"  I  haven't  a  betther  to  give  you,  sir — barrin'  half- 
pence." 

"Well,  I'm  noways  proud,  so  the  halfpence  will  do  for 
me  ;  good  copper  is  betther  than  bad  silver,  any  day." 

The  state  of  silver  currency  in  Ireland  at  this  period  was 
disgraceful — so  bad  that  it  left  the  public  almost  at  the 
mercy  of  the  coiners.  When  the  Warwickshire  militia 
went  to  Ireland,  many  of  the  privates,  having  been  work- 
men in  Birmingham,  were  very  smart  hands  at  the  prac- 
tice, and  many  stories  are  current  of  their  doings  in  this 
line.  Amongst  others,  it  is  stated  that  a  party  of  these 
men  in  a  public  house  offered  some  bad  money  for  what 
they  had  drunk  ;  but  the  publican,  being  on  his  guard,  as 
their  habits  in  this  way  were  becoming  notorious,  refused 
several  shillings,  one  after  another.  The  soldier  who  of- 
fered them  said  the  dealer  in  liquor  was  over  particular  ; 
but  he  retorted  that  they  were  so  well  known  for  their 
tricks  it  was  necessary  to  be  cautious. 

"Well,"  said  the  soldier  at  last,  "here,  then,  since  noth- 
ing else  will  do,"  and  he  threw  down  another  coin,  and  a 
very  good-looking  one  it  was. 

The  landlord  examined  it  for  a  while,  but  at  last  it  was 
rejected. 

"What !  "  said  the  soldier,  "  nor  not  that  neither  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  landlord. 

So  a  good  shilling  was  obliged  to  be  produced  at  last, 

*  The  shilling  and  sixpence  were  called  by  the  lower  orders  "hog''  and 
"tester." 


88  RORY   O'MORE. 

and,  as  the  party  left  the  house,  the    discomfited  hero  v,-as 
heard  to  say  : 

"  Well,  I  never  know'd  one  d  Tom's  make  to  miss  before." 

The  girl  brought  back  Rory  the  value  of  the  sixpence 
in  copper — or  rather  much  more  than  its  value  ;  and  then 
Rory  commenced  reckoning  his  change,  which  was  the 
means  he  had  decided  on  for  throwing  out  his  signal.  So, 
spreading  the  halfpence  before  him,  he  began  : 

"  One,  two,  three — there's  some  sense  in  good  half- 
pence ;  one,  two,  three — jist  as  if  I  was  to  rob  you  of  your 
tin,  my  good  girl,  one,  two,  three — phoo  !  murdher  !  I'm 
mixin'  them  all." 

"  Arrah,  will  you  never  be  done  reckonin'  them  ?"  said 
Hebe,  impatiently  ;  "one  ud  think  'twas  a  hundher  pour/' 
you  were  countin',  let  alone  change  of  a  hog.  I'm  thinM" 
in'  it's  no  great  credit  to  vour  schoolmaster  you  are." 

"  Fair  and  aisy  goes  far  in  a  day,"  said  Rory,  again  con'* 
mencing  to  count  his  change. 

"  One,  two,  three,"  and  while  he  spoke  he  looked  at  thrt 
dark-eyed  man,  in  whose  face  he  fancied  he  caught  somf' 
thing  of  an  expression  of  the  intelligence  of  his  meaninj^, 
and  then  he  proceeded  with  his  reckoning  and  dismisse-^ 
the  girl. 

One  of  the  men  addressed  him  and  said,  "  You  are  pjj.«'»» 
ticular  in  counting  your  change." 

"Yes,  indeed  I  am,"  said  Rory,  "and  I'll  tell  you  ths. 
reason  why  ;  because  I  lost  some  money  the  other  day  by 
not  being  particular  in  that  same,  when  I  was  buying  som«i 
ducks." 

The  dark-eyed  man  looked  very  sharply  at  Rory  as  h«< 
proceeded. 

"  To  be  sure,  I  didn't  mind  the  loss  much,  for  the  ducks 
was  worth  the  money.      They  wor  very  fine  ducks." 

A  still  keener  glance  from  the  dark-eyed  man  followed 
Rory's  last  words,  and  he  rose  immediately  and  left  the 
public  house  ;  his  two  companions  did  so  likewise,  and 
Rory  lost  no  time  in  following  them.  On  reaching  the 
door  he  saw  them  standing  together  a  few  paces  removed 
from  the  house,  and  on  seeing  him  appear  they  walked 
down  the  quay  until  they  arrived  at  a  corner,  where,  look- 
ing back  to  see  that  he  followed,  they  turned  up  the  street. 
Rory  tracked  them,  and  at  another  turn  the  same  practice 
was  observed  by  his  conductors,  whom  he  continued  to 
follow,  dodging  them  through  many  an  intricate  winding, 
until,  arriving  at  a  very  narrow  alley,  they  turned  for  the 


ROnV  O'MORE.  89 

last  time,  and  when  Rory  reached  the  spot  he  perceived 
them  about  half  way  up  the  passage  standing  at  the  mouth 
of  a  cellar  ;  and  the  moment  he  appeared  they  all  sudden- 
ly descended.  He  followed  fast  upon  them,  and  going 
down  a  steep  and  broken  stair  entered  a  low  door,  which 
was  closed  the  moment  he  had  passed  it,  and  he  found 
himself  in  total  darkness. 


CHAPTER  X. 


In  which  Rory  Hears  and  Sees  More  than  He  Bargained  For,  and  Finds 
in  the  Conclusion  the  Truth  of  the  Proverb,  that  Providence  never 
Shuts  one  Door  without  Opening  Another. 

While  spots  of  red  and  green  were  dancing  before 
Rory's  eyes  by  his  sudden  immersion  from  light  into 
darkness,  a  voice  close  beside  him  said  : 

*'  Ver  glaad  to  see  you." 

"  God  spare  you  your  eyesight,"  said  Rory  ;  "  I  wish  I 
could  return  the  compliment  to  you." 

Rory  heard  a  low  laugh  in  another  tone,  and  then  the 
former  voice  spoke  again  : 

"  Whaat !  you  no  glaad  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Faith,  I  would  be  very  glad  to  see  you  ;  but  how  can  I 
see  you  in  the  dark  ? " 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  I  see,  you  fonee  feylow — ha,  ha  ! " 

"  Strek  a  light,"  said  another  voice. 

"  Wait  a  minnit — I'm  gettin'  the  tendher-box,"  was  the 
answer. 

The  foreign  voice  again  said,  addressing  Rory  : 

"You  air  wailcome." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,"  said  Rory  ;  "give  us  your  fist." 

"  Vaut  you  say  ? " 

"  Give  us  your  fist." 

"  He's  biddin'  )'ou  shake  hands  wid  him,"  said  a  voice 
that  had  not  yet  spoken  ;  and  Rory  thought  it  was  one  he 
should  know,  though  where  he  had  heard  it  he  could  not 
remember. 

■"  Oh  !  "  said  the  foreigner  ;  '■'■  donnez  moi  la  main'' 

"'  No,  I  dunna  any  man,"  said  Rorv'. 

"  Bah  !  shek  han'  wis  me  ? "  said  the  voice. 

Rory  now  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  encountered  an 
extended  palm  which  grasped  his  and  exchanged  with 
him  the  grip  of  the  United  Irishman. 


go  RORY   O'MORE 

Tills  satisfied  Rory  all  was  right,  and  he  nov.-  waited 
with  patience  for  the  light.  The  sound  of  a  fhnt  and 
steel,  followed  by  a  shower  of  sparks,  showed  that  the 
process  of  illumination  was  going  forward  ;  the  tinder 
soon  became  ignited,  and  the  sharp  sound  of  blowing  was 
soon  followed  by  the  lighting  of  a  match — and  the  first 
face  that  its  lurid  glare  fell  upon  was  that  of  Shan  Regan. 

Rory  started  ;  he  was  the  last  person  he  expected  to 
meet,  and  certainly  the  last  he  could  have  wished  to  see 
in  that  place.  A  coolness  for  some  time  had  existed  be- 
tween them,  as  the  reader  already  knows  ;  and  though 
Rory  fully  intended  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  remove  it, 
and  to  meet  Regan  for  that  purpose  as  often  as  he  could, 
yet  on  such  an  occasion  as  the  present  he  could  have 
wished  him  absent.  His  presence  there,  it  is  true,  showeo 
him  to  be  engaged  in  the  same  cause  as  Rory,  and  one  at 
the  first  glance  might  suppose  that  this  would  have  fa* 
cilitated  a  reconciliation  between  them  ;  but  on  closer 
examination  we  shall  find  this  not  to  be  the  case.  In  all 
conspiracies  where  men  are  linked  together  in  a  causfc 
whose  penalty  is  death,  private  friendship  is  desirable 
amongst  its  members,  at  least  in  its  early  stages,  where 
fidelity  is  essential  to  its  existence.  Personal  foes  may 
fight  side  by  side  in  the  same  cause  when  once  a  con- 
spiracy arrives  at  its  outbreak  ;  but  in  its  secret  prepara- 
tory councils  a  man  recoils  from  the  contact  of  any  but  a 
friend. 

It  was  the  consciousness  of  this  fact,  perhaps,  that  led 
to  the  ingenious  construction  of  the  plan  by  which  the 
heads  of  the  Society  of  United  Irishmen  contrived  to  or- 
ganize a  great  portion  of  Ireland.  This  system  was  this  : 
There  was  a  chief  committee  of  twelve  ;  each  of  these 
twelve  was  at  the  head  of  another  twelve,  but  between 
each  knot  of  twelve  there  was  no  acquaintance — they  were 
totally  distinct  from  each  other :  so  that  an  extensive 
ramification  of  union  existed  in  parties  of  twelve,  each 
obeying  its  own  superior,  through  whom,  alone,  all  com- 
mands and  plans  were  conveyed.  Each  knot  was  thus  a 
little  band  of  friends,  and  from  their  distinctness  the  se- 
cret was  the  more  likely  to  be  kept.  It  will  be  seen  that 
by  this  means  the  head  committee  organized  one  hundred 
and  forty-four  members,  whose  knots  of  twelve,  each 
being  multiplied,  gave  a  force  of  twenty  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  odd  "men,  and  their  multiplied  dozens  would 
produce    nearly  two  hundred   and   forty-nine   thousand ; 


ROHY   O'MORE.  gl 

thus,  at  three  removes  from  the  focus  of  the  system,  a 
powerful  force  was  at  a  moment's  command,  within  whose 
several  knots  private  friendship,  as  well  as  a  common 
cause,  was  a  source  of  union  and  fidelity.  It  was  only  in 
the  higher  grades  of  the  confederation  that  private  signals 
existed.  In  the  inferior  classes  each  dozen  only  knew 
their  own  circles,  so  that  to  whatever  extent  the  systein 
might  be  spread,  each  of  the  subordinate  actors  was  in- 
timate with  no  more  than  twelve  persons,  which  tended  at 
once  to  give  greater  personal  security,  and  to  prevent  also 
a  premature  explosion  of  the  conspiracy. 

This  brief  sketch  of  the  system  is  given  to  account  for 
Rory  not  knowing  Regan  to  be  a  United  man,  although 
living  in  the  same  distiict.  Regan  belonged  to  another 
circle  ;  and  it  was  from  very  different  desires  that  he  was 
of  the  association,  and  v\'iih  a  different  set  that  he  was 
leagued.  Rory  became  a  United  Irishman  from  other 
and  better  motives  than  Regan.  However  erroneous 
those  motives  might  have  been,  they  had  their  origin  in  a 
generous  nature  ;  wild  notions  of  the  independence  of  his 
country  were  uppermost  in  the  mind  of  Rory,  while  the 
mere  love  of  license  was  the  incentive  to  Regan.  During 
that  terrible  period  of  Ireland's  history,  some  of  the  in- 
surgents were  pure,  however  mistaken,  enthusiasts,  while 
there  were  others  whose  love  of  turbulence  was  their  only 
motive.  Of  the  latter  class  was  Regan  ;  he  had  inherited 
from  his  father  a  comfortable  farm,  but  his  love  of  debas- 
ing amusements — such  as  cock-fighting,  etc.,  the  fre- 
quency of  his  visits  to  public  houses,  and  his  attachment 
to  disorderly  company — had  led  him  from  the  wholesome 
pursuits  that  w^ould  have  made  him  good,  and  prosperous 
to  become  improvident  and  embarrassed. 

It  is  strange  that  whenever  this  takes  place  a  man 
mostly  becomes  an  idler  ;  the  very  fact  which  should  warn 
him  of  his  danger,  and  make  him  exert  himself  the  more, 
generally  operates  the  contrary  way.  He  gives  himself 
up,  as  it  were,  to  ruin,  and  seeks  in  dissipation  forgetful- 
ness  of  the  past  and  disregard  of  the  future.  This  state 
of  things  lasts  as  long  as  there  is  anything  left  to  support 
him  ;  and  when  all  is  lost,  he  is  then  fit  for  any  sort  of 
violence  or  meanness — he  must  be  either  a  beggar  or  a 
desperado. 

It  was  in  the  middle  stage  that  Regan  fell  in  with  De 
Welskein.  They  were  just  the  men  for  each  other — Regan 
was  at   the  head  of  a  disorderly  set  of  fellows,  who  were 


92  RORY  O'MORE. 

ready  and  active  agents  in  assisting  the  Frenchman  in  his 
smuggling  ;  and,  in  return,  the  brandy,  and  tobacco,  and 
merry-makings  of  the  smuggler  were  ample  temptations 
Hnd  regards  for  Regan.  The  debauched  orgies  of  the 
cellar,  where  Rory  now  found  himself  for  the  first  time, 
were  familiar  to  the  unfortunate  victim  of  idleness,  bad 
company,  and  lawless  desires. 

Though  he  was  often  absent  from  home,  and  neglected 
his  husbandry,  he  still  retained  his  farm  ;  but  his  pay- 
ments of  rent  became  irregular,  his  farming-stock  grew 
less  by  degrees — a  cow,  a  sheep,  a  pig,  was  obliged  now 
and  then  to  be  sacrificed  to  supply  his  riotous  propensi- 
ties— and  his  poor  mother  and  sister  saw  with  sorrow  their 
comforts  lessening  around  them  ;  but  they  complained 
not,  for  they  dreaded  the  fierce  temper  of  Shan  Dhu,  or 
Black  John,  as  he  was  called.  It  was  not  only  the  diminu- 
tion of  his  worldly  substance  they  lamented,  but  they  felt 
that  the  most  respectable  of  their  neighbors,  one  by  one, 
dropped  off  from  their  acquaintance  with  them  ;  and  this, 
to  the  sensitive  nature  of  the  Irish  peasant,  cuts  deeper 
than  want.  Want  they  are  familiar  with  ;  they  see  it  on 
«very  side,  and  they  can  bear  it  with  patience  ;  but  the 
social  virtues  flourish  amongst  them  in  the  midst  of  bar- 
renness, like  the  palms  of  the  desert. 

Amongst  the  friendships  which  had  decayed  was  that  of 
the  O'Mores.  The  widow  loved  her  daughter  too  well  to 
give  her  to  a  disorderly,  though  a  comparatively  wealthy, 
peasant,  as  Shan  Regan  was  when  he  asked  Mary  O'More 
for  his  wife  ;  and  Mary  herself  had  an  intuitive  dislike  for 
all  that  was  gross,  which  revolted  from  Regan's  brutal 
nature.  Rory,  though  he  knew  him  not  as  a  friend  at  any 
period — for  the  men  were  too  unlike  each  other  ever  to 
have  associated  closely — yet  always  had  recognized  him  as 
an  old  acquaintance  whenever  they  met ;  but  he  never 
sought  his  company — for  Rory,  though  as  full  of  fun,  as 
fond  of  mirth,  and  loving  his  glass,  his  joke,  and  a  pretty 
girl,  as  much,  as  every  Irishman  ought  to  do,  yet  he  rever- 
enced the  decencies  of  life  too  much  lo  be  a  drunkard,  a 
buffoon,  or  a  debauchee.  His  acquaintanceship  with  Re- 
gan might  have  gone  on,  as  far  as  Rory  was  concerned, 
just  the  same,  quite  uninfluenced  by  his  sister's  refusal  ; 
but  not  so  with  the  rejected  one.  He  considered  the  part 
Mary  had  taken  as  a  family  affront  ;  his  pride  (such  as  it 
was)  was  wounded  more  than  his  heart  ;  or  rather,  it  was 
his  love  for  himself,  and  not  for  the  girl,  that  suffered 


RORY   O'MORE.  93 

most.  So  lac  made  a  feud  of  the  business,  and  included 
Rory  amongst  his  foes.  To  this  he  was  the  more  inclined, 
as  he  suspected  Conolly,  who  was  a  sworn  friend  of 
O'More's,  to  be  his  rival. 

From  all  these  circumstances,  it  was  no  wonder  that 
Rory  was  startled  at  seeing  Regan  at  such  a  time  ;  but  as 
he  could  not  help  himself,  he  determined  to  affect  com- 
posure, which  he  was  the  better  able  to  accomplish  as  he 
had  time  to  recover  from  his  surprise  before  his  presence 
was  manifest  to  Regan.  The  scene  that  had  occurred  in 
the  morning,  too,  rendered  him  the  more  anxious  to  con- 
ciliate ;  and  with  a  sincere  wish  to  overcome  the  coohiess 
that  Regan  had  lately  observed  toward  him,  he  advanced 
to  him  with  open  hand  and  greeted  him  kindly.  It  was 
obvious,  from  the  expression  that  passed  over  Regan's 
face,  that  the  meeting  was  quite  as  startling  and  disagree- 
able to  him  as  it  had  been  to  Rory,  who  continued  still, 
however,  the  offer  of  his  hand,  and  repeated  his  words  o^ 
kindly  recognition.  A  cold  reply  was  all  that  followed, 
though  the  hand  was  accepted,  but  there  was  no  sympathy 
in  the  contact ;  the  touch  of  friendship  was  wanting— 
that  touch  whose  sensation  is  so  undefinable,  but  so  well 
understood — that  natural  freemasonry  which  springs  from 
and  is  recognized  by  the  heart. 

As  soon  as  the  light  was  struck,  a  lamp  was  lighted  in  a 
ship-lantern  that  hung  from  the  low  roof  of  the  cellar  over 
a  coarse  table  round  which  benches  of  a  rude  construction 
were  placed.  Another  person  as  well  as  Regan  was  pres- 
ent in  addition  to  the  three  Rory  had  followed  from  the. 
public  house  ;  and  this  man  seemed  more  familiar  with 
De  Welskein  than  any  of  the  others,  and  sometimes  ad- 
dressed him  in  French.  Round  the  cellar  were  some  coils 
of  rope  ;  a  couple  of  hammocks  were  hung  in  one  corner  ; 
two  or  three  kegs,  and  some  rolls  of  tobacco  were  stowed 
away  under  a  truckle-bed  in  another  quarter  of  the  den, 
and  in  a  rude  cupboard  coarse  trenchers  and  drinking-cans 
were  jumbled  together,  with  some  stone  jars  of  a  foreign 
aspect.  After  some  bustle  pipes  and  tobacco  were  laid  on 
the  table,  the  stone  bottles  and  the  drinking-vessels  were 
taken  from  the  cupboard,  and  De  Welskein  invited  Rory 
to  sit  down  beside  him. 

"'Combe,  you  sair — seet  down — here  something  for  you 
to  drink — not  nastee,  like  pobelic-house,  bote  goot — ha, 
ha  I  No  doretee  portere,  bote  brandee — ver  goot  and 
nussing  to  pay." 


94  RORY   O'MORE. 

All  the  men  sat  down,  and  sending^  the  stone  jar  from 
man  to  man,  the  cans  were  charged  with  brandy,  slightly 
diluted  with  water  from  a  black  pitcher;  pipes  were  ligiited, 
smoking  and  drinking  commenced,  and  while  a  desiiUory 
conversation  was  kept  up  among  the  rest  of  the  party.  Do 
Welskein  questioned  Rory  as  to  the  cause  of  his  being 
the  messenger  to  him.  Rory  made  him  acquainted  with 
De  Lacy's  illness,  and  the  circumstances  that  led  to  his 
being  his  guest ;  in  all  of  which  communication  the  person 
who  spoke  French  assisted  in  making  De  Welskein  and 
Rory  intelligible  to  each  otlier.  This  was  no  very  easy 
matter  sometimes  ;  the  Frenchman's  English  bothering 
Rory  uncommonly,  as  his  name  did  also.  However,  as  it 
was  necessary  he  should  drink  to  the  founder  of  the  feast, 
he  was  obliged  to  make  an  offer  at  liis  name,  and  so  he 
boldly  took  his  can  of  grog  in  his  hand,  and  with  his  best 
bow  said  : 

"Here's  to  your  good  health,  Mr.  Wilkinson." 

A  laugh  followed  at  Rory's  expense,  in  which  the  French- 
man only  half  joined,  for  it  has  already  been  noticed  that 
his  name  was  matter  of  anxiety  to  him  ;  so  as  soon  as  the 
laugh  had  subsided  he  said  : 

"  No,  no  !  not  dat  my  nem — De  Welskein." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir — but  would  you  say  that  agin, 
if  you  plaze." 

The  Frenchman  now  slowly  and  distinctly  pronounced 
his  name,  giving  the  w  the  sound  of  the  v  which  it  as- 
sumes in  Dutch  names,  and  repeated — "  De-Vel-skeen." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  says  Rory  ;  "  I  ax  your  pardon,  and 
again  I  say,  Here  is  to  your  good  health,  Mr.  Devil- 
skin."  -— 

A  roar  of  laughter  followed  this  mistake  of  Rory's,  and 
all  swore  that  that  was  the  best  name  of  all  the  others  he 
enjoyed  ;  but  the  Frenchman  did  not  like  it,  and  said  im- 
patiently, using  his  own  language,  as  a  foreigner  generally 
does  when  he  becomes  excited  : 

'•''  Non,  non,  non,  mon  ami! — Devilskeen  ! — 7ion ;  c'est,  '■Poil- 
de-diable  !  ' — Sacre — quel — 7io7n  ! — '  Poil-de-diable  I '  you  say 
not  dat.  Pierre,"  said  he,  addressing  his  friend  who  spoke 
French,  "/ai'tes  ltd  comprcndre  mon  nom — pas  de  Welskein^ 
parceque  c'est  trop  difficile^  mais  St.  Foix." 

"  Oti  SanS'peur"  said  Pierre. 

The  Frenchman  nodded  assent  and  said,  ''Ban."  The 
compliment  appeased  him. 

Pierre   now  told  Rory  to  addi^ess  De  Welskein  by  the 


RORY   CHORE.  95 

favorite  name  of  Sans-peur ;  but  this  was  as  difficult  to 
Rory  as  the  other,  and  the  nearest  approach  he  could  make 
to  it  was  "Scamper."  This  he  varied  sometimes  into 
"Sampler,"  or  "Sandpaper,"  as  luck  would  have  it. 

While  the  drinking  and  smoking  proceeded,  De  Wel- 
skein  told  Rory  of  the  intended  expedition  from  the  Texel ; 
and  when  he  had  given  him  all  the  verbal  instruction  he 
thought  requisite,  he  intrusted  him  with  the  letter  to  De 
Lacy  from  General  Hoche. 

"Tare  an  ouns !  "  said  Rory;  "is  it  the  rale  Gineral 
Hoche?"  for  Hoche's  name  and  reputation  were  well 
known  in  Ireland. 

"  Old;'  said  De  Welskein. 

"What  do  you  mane  by  we  2  it's  not  uz  at  all  I'm  axin' 
about  ;  but  I  want  to  know  is  this  letther  from  the  rale 
gineral ?  " 

"  Certanlee — oui." 

"  Augh  !  what  is  he  sayin'  we  for  ?  "  said  Rory,  turning 
to  Pierre,  who  was  grinning  at  Rory's  mistakes  and  the 
Frenchman's  impatience. 

"  He  means  yes,"  said  Pierre  ;  "  oiii  means  yes." 

"  Oh  !  I  ax  your  pardon,  Mr.  Sandpaper  ;  then  this  is  the 
rale  gineral's  letther !  Oh  !  to  think  that  I'd  ever  see  the 
proud  day  that  I'd  have  a  letther  of  Gineral  Hoche's  in 
my  fist !  "  and  he  kissed  it  with  rapture. 

The  Frenchman  cried  "  Sacre  !  "  and  laughed  at  his  en- 
thusiasm ;  and  Rory  proceeded  : 

"And  will  we  see  the  gineral  here,  Mr.  Scraper?" 

"  Me  f  raid  no,"  said  De  Welskein  ;  and  he  shook  his 
head  mysteriously  and  made  a  grimace. 

*'  What  do  you  mane  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"Me  fraid  he  die." 

"  Is  it  Gineral  Hoche  die  ?  Arrah  !  an'  what  would  he 
die  for  ? " 

"  Me  tinks  he  got  vaut  you  call  gunstump." 

"Gun— w/iai?" 

"He  has  got  de  gunstump  in  him." 

"  God  keep  us  !  "  says  Rory  ;  "  think  o'  that !  And  where 
is  it  in  him,  sir  ?  " 

"  Inside  ;  into  his  boddee." 

"Oh,  murther  !  my  poor  fellow!  to  have  the  stump  of 
a  gun  stickin'  in  him  !  " 

"  No,  no,  de  gun  not  stick  in  him — you  mistake  ;  it  is 
Vaut  I  vood  sav,  dat  he  has  de  ticklehine." 

"What  is  it  he  says  about  ticklin'  ?"  said  Rory  to  Pierre, 


95  RGRY  O'MORE. 

who  only  grinned  and  enjoyed  the  mutiud  mistakes  of  the 
Freucliniau  and  the  Paddy. 

"  Mai  a  la  poiirine,"  said  De  Welskein. 

"  That's  thrue,  faith,"  said  Rory.  "  If  he's  so  bad 
as  that,  his  only  dipindince  is  in  the  Fadhereens,  sure 
enough." 

Peter  (or  Pierre)  now  laughed  outright  at  Rory's  blunder, 
which  must  be  explained.  Fadhereens  is  the  name  the 
Irish  give  to  their  beads,  upon  which  they  count  the  num- 
ber oiFaters  (or  Pathers)  they  repeat,  and  hence  the  name 
Fadhereens  j  and  Rory  very  naturally  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion, that  if  a  man  was  at  the  point  of  death,  which  Rory 
conceived  to  be  most  likely  when  he  had  the  '■''  sttutip  of  a 
gun  stickirC  in  him"  the  best  thing  he  could  do  would  be  to 
say  his  prayers. 

De  Welskein  saw  there  was  a  mystification  going  for- 
ward ;  so  he  said  to  Pierre,  "  Expliquez  done  !  " 

"  What  he  says  is,"  said  Pierre,  "  that  the  general  has 
consumption." 

"  Ah  !  I  forgess  de  terminasion — gunstumpsion — yais,  dat 
is  raight — gunstumpsion." 

"  Oh,  murdher !"  said  Rory  ;  "  if  we  had  him  here,  we 
would  cure  him  intirely." 

"  Coviment  ?  "  said  the  Frenchman, 

"  Oh,  it's  common  enough  in  this  country,  indeed,"  said 
Rory.  "  The  finest  thing  in  the  world  for  consumption  is 
goat's  milk,  made  into  whay." 

"Ah,  yais — ghost's  milk  ver  goot." 

"  Goafs  milk,  I  say,"  says  Rory. 

"Yais,  yais,  I  oonderstan',"  said  the  Frenchman,  with 
great  complacency  ;  "ghost's  milk." 

"  'Faith,  it's  ghost's  milk  he'll  be  takin',  I'm  afeard,  sure 
enough,"  said  Pierre,  laughing  at  De  Welskein's  mistake. 

"  Oh,  murdher  !"  said  Rory,  "  and  is  Gineral  Hoche 
goin'  to  die  ?     Oh,  thin  that  is  the  murdher  ! "  * 

So,  Rory,  in  the  idiom  of  his  language,  unintentionally 
expressed  what  was,  in  fact,  the  fate  of  the  gallant  Hoche. 

A  tap  at  the  door  of  the  cellar  announced  a  fresh  arri- 
val ;  and  after  some  signals  given,  the  door  was  opened, 
and  some  other  men  entered,  and,  at  short  intervals  after,  a 
few  girls.  Some  of  the  latter  were  good-looking,  though 
with  a  certain  expression  of  boldness  and  recklessness  that 
Rory  did  not  admire.  Rory  had  enough  of  imagination  and 
sentiment  to   render  the  society  of   the  softer  sex  always 

*  This  expression  means  "that  is  the  pity." 


RORY  O'MORE.  97 

matter  of  delight  to  him  ;  but  there  was  something  in  the 
manner  of  these  girls  he  did  not  like. 

"  You  see,"  said  De  Welskein,  "  de  leddees  mek  visite  to 
me." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Rory,  who  did  not  know  how,  very  well, 
to  answer  this  appeal. 

"  But  you  no  dreenk." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  I'm  doin'  very  well." 

"  You  no  like  brandee  ?  " 

"  'Faith,  it's  illigant  stuff  it  is.  But  you  know,  Mr.  Sand- 
paper, that  enough  is  as  good  as  a  faist." 

"  If  you  no  like  brandee,  give  you  wine." 

Rory  refused  the  offer  ;  but  one  of  the  girls  addressed 
De  Welskein,  and  thanking  him  for  his  offer,  asked,  "  if 
he'd  make  a  big  jug  o'  the  nice  thing  he  gave  them  the 
other  night  ?  " 

Pierre  explained  to  him  that  some  of  the  ladies  would 
like  negus,  because  they  thought  it  genteel. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Frenchman,  "  yais,  my  dear,  certaineme?it, 
you  moste  have  your  leetle  niggers  :  vouds  you  like  to  have 
some  nutmarks  een  it  ?" 

"What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Whelpskin  ?  "  said  the  girl,  sim- 
pering. 

"  Vouds  you  like  nutmarks  ? " 

Pierre  came  to  the  rescue,  "  He  says,  would  you  like  to 
have  your  jug  o'  negus  made  with  nutmegs,  my  darling  ?" 

"Any  way  Mr.  Whelpskin  plazes." 

"So  it's  not  too  7i'akt\"  says  another. 

"  A  dash  o'  sper'ts  through  it  will  make  it  livelier,  sir," 
said  the  most  audacious  of  the  party.  And  accordingly  a 
large  jug  of  niggers,  with  nutmarks  an^i  the  dash  o'  sper'ts, 
was  made.  A  fiddler,  in  some  time,  made  his  appearance  ; 
and  after  the  Jirsf  jug  oi  niggers  liad  been  demolished,  a 
dance  was  set  on  foot.  One  of  the  ladies  asked  Rory  to 
"  stand  up  on  the  flure,"  which,  of  course,  Rory  did,  and 
exerted  himself  to  the  utmost  to  do  credit  to  his  dancing- 
master.  In  short,  Rory,  though  he  did  not  like  the  party, 
had,  intuitively,  too  much  savoi'r  vivre  to  let  any  repugnance 
he  might  entertain  be  manifested.  He  drank,  to  be  sure, 
sparingly  ;  and  after  the  niggers  were  introduced  he  took 
no  more  brandy-and-water  ;  he  smoked  an  occasional  pipe, 
and  danced  "  like  anything,"  but  he  kept  himself  clear  of 
intoxication,  though  he  had  drunk  enough  to  produce  ex- 
hilaration. Dance  after  dance  succeeded  ;  and  Rory  dis- 
played so  much  elasticity  of  limb,  that  it  excited  the  admi- 


§8  RORY  O'MORE. 

ration  of  even  De  Welskein.  One  of  Ron-'s  partncrn 
seemed  much  taken  with  him  ;  and  after  a  certain  jig  they 
had  executed,  much  to  their  mutual  honor  and  the  admi- 
ration of  the  beholders,  the  fair  danseiise  sat  beside  him  so 
close  as  not  to  admit  of  any  doubt  that  she  rather  admired 
him.  A  cessation  to  the  dancing  now  took  place,  and 
brandy-and-water  and  niggers  ad  infinitum  was  the  order  of 
the  day — or  rather  the  night.  A  song  was  next  called  for 
from  the  girl  who  sat  beside  Rory  ;  and  after  a  proper 
quantity  of  hemming  and  hawing,  and  protestations  that 
she  was  very  hoarse,  she  sung  with  a  good  voice,  whose 
natural  sweetness  seemed  to  have  been  rendered  coarse  by 
exposure  to  weather,  the  following  song  : 

"  Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  blackbirds  and  thrishes, 
Oh !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  blackbirds  and  thrishes. 
Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  blackbirds  and  thrishes, 
It's  then  the  young  men  would  be  batin'  the  bushes. 

"  Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  ducks  in  the  wather, 
Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  ducks  in  the  wather, 
Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  ducks  in  the  wather, 
It's  then  the  young  men  would  jump  in  and  swim  afther. 

"  Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  birds  on  a  mountain, 
Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  birds  on  a  mountain, 
Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  birds  on  a  mountain, 
It's  then  the  young  men  would  get  guns  and  go  grousin'. 

"  If  the  maidens  was  all  throut  and  salmon  so  lively, 
If  the  maidens  was  all  throut  and  salmon  so  lively. 
If  the  maidens  was  all  throut  and  salmon  so  lively, 
Oh  !  the  divii  a  one  would  ate  mate  on  a  Friday." 

Loud  applause  followed  this  charming  lyric,  during  the 
singing  of  which  the  damsel  cast  sundry  sly  glances  at 
Rory,  who  could  not  mistake  that  she  was  making  love  to 
him.  Rory  was  a  handsome  fellow,  and  was  as  conscious 
as  most  handsome  fellows  are,  that  there  is  a  certain  read- 
iness on  the  part  of  the  softer  sex  to  be  affected  by  good 
looks — but  this  rather  open  manifestation  of  it  embar- 
rassed him.  To  repel  a  woman  was  what  his  nature  would 
[not  permit  him  to  do  :  yet  to  yield  to  the  species  of  temp- 
\  tation  that  was  offered  to  him  was  what  his  heart  forbade. 

The  revel  had  proceeded  now  for  some  hours,  and  great 
license  was  exhibited  cmi  the  part  of  all.  Rory's  partner 
still  clung  to  him  with  a  degree  of  seductiveness  that 
might  have  influenced  him  at  another  time  ;  but  now  the 


\ 


/?0/^V  O'MORE.  99 

unholy  spell  was  powerless.  He  had  that  morning  won 
the  plighted  troth  of  his  Kathleen,  and  the  bare  thouglit 
of  being  faithless  to  her  was  profanation.  He  thought  of 
her  sweet  song,  even  in  defiance  of  the  scraping  of  the 
tipsy  fiddler,  who  still  stimulated  the  drunken  party  to 
stagger  through  the  dance  ;  and  above  the  reeking  streams 
of  punch  and  tobacco  rose  the  sweet  odor  of  the  breath  of 
the  cows  and  the  morning  flowers  to  his  memory  ;  the  rec- 
ollection was  his  salvation. 

Oh  !  what  of  earthly  influence  can  so  fortify  the  heart  of    ^ 
man  against  the  seductions  of  vice  as  the  love  of  a  virtuous  .' 
w^oman  ! 

Let  us  pursue  this  scene  no  further  ;  suffice  it  to  say, 
their  brutal  revelry  had  so  far  overcome  the  party,  that  of 
all  present  Rory  O'More  and  his  partner  only  were  thor- 
oughly conscious  of  w^hat  was  going  forward.  When  Rory 
saw  there  was  none  to  oppose  his  retiring,  he  drew  the  bolt 
of  the  door  to  depart  ;  his  tempting  partner  made  a  last 
appeal  to  induce  him  to  stay,  and  even  threw  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 

Rory's  manhood  rebelled  for  a  moment  ;  but  the  thought 
of  Kathleen  came  over  him,  and  in  as  soothing  a  tone  as 
he  could  command,  he  said — "Don't  blame  me;  I've  a 
sweetheart  that  trusts  to  me,  and  I  mustn't  deceive  the  in- 
nocent girl !  " 

The  words  "  innocent  girl  "  seemed  to  go  through  the 
heart  of  the  woman  like  a  pistol-shot.  She  withdrew  her 
arms  from  Rory's  neck,  and  hiding  her  flushed  face  in  her 
hands,  burst  into  tears,  and,  throwing  herself  on  a  bench, 
sobbed  as  though  her  heart  would  break. 

Rory  looked  on  her  with  pity  ;  but  fearing  to  trust  him- 
self to  so  softening  an  influence  as  a  woman's  weeping,  he 
rushed  up  the  broken  steps  of  the  cellar,  and  ran  down  the 
narrow  alley  until  he  had  turned  its  corner.  He  then 
paused  a  moment,  to  endeavor  to  remember  the  way  he 
had  come,  which  had  been  so  intricate,  that  under  the  ex- 
citing circumstances  in  which  he  had  been  led  to  the  place 
and  w^as  leaving  it,  it  cannot  be  wondered  his  recollection 
was  rather  misty  ;  so,  taking  the  turn  which  chance  sug- 
gested when  he  ran  from  the  alley,  he  threaded  some  lonely 
lanes,  treading  as  stealthily  as  his  haste  would  permit  ;  for 
an  occasional  gleam  of  light  through  a  cracked  shutter  or 
the  chink  of  a  door  betokened  that  some  of  the  inhabitants 
of  this  ill-conditioned  quarter  were  still  watchers  ;  and 
from  the  specimen  he  had  seen  of  the  company  it  afforded, 


lOO  RORY   O'MORE. 

he  had  no  wish  to  encounter  any  more  of  its  inmates.  The 
sensation  of  a  freer  atmosphere  than  that  of  the  confined 
closes  he  had  deen  traversing  now  came  upon  him,  and 
indicated  the  vicinity  of  a  more  open  space  ;  and  facing 
the  current  of  air  that  streamed  up  the  lane,  he  soon  ar- 
rived in  what  appeared  to  him  to  be  the  high  street  of  the 
town.  Here  all  was  empty,  dark,  and  silent,  except  for 
the  splashing  of  the  rain  from  the  spouts  of  the  houses, 
and  Rory  was  obliged  again  to  pause,  for  lie  knew  not 
which  way  to  turn,  as  he  had  made  his  way  from  the  alley 
by  a  route  different  from  that  by  which  he  had  entered, 
and  he  was  consequently  in  a  street  he  had  never  seen  be- 
fore, in  a  town  to  wdiich  he  was  a  stranger. 

He  stood  for  some  minutes,  unmindful  of  the  torrent  of 
rain  that  was  falling,  qui'e  absorbed  in  the  consideration 
of  what  he  should  do.  It  was  late,  and  he  doubted  whether 
at  such  an  hour  he  would  be  likely  to  get  admittance  to  a 
place  of  abode  for  the  night  ;  besides,  he  did  not  know 
where  to  find  it  ;  and  it  struck  him  that  the  only  course 
left  him  was  to  make  the  best  of  his  way  out  of  the  town, 
and  proceed  homeward.  This,  to  be  sure,  was  a  heavy 
task  to  impose  on  himself,  for  he  had  not  taken  any  rest 
since  he  left  his  own  house  ;  he  had  traversed  a  considerable 
tract  of  country,  and  to  go  over  the  same  ground  again 
without  the  intervention  of  sleep  was  what  even  so  active 
a  fellow  as  Rory  O'More  did  not  relish  the  contemplation 
of.  Therefore,  the  decision  he  came  to  at  last  was,  to  leave 
the  matter  to  chance  ;  if  in  his  passage  through  the  town 
he  saw  any  place  that  promised  him  shelter,  to  ask  for  it ; 
and  if  not,  to  start  direct  for  home. 

His  resolve  being  taken,  he  wrapped  his  frieze-coat  about 
him — for  he  now  noticed  that  it  did  rain  rather  heavily — 
and  walked  at  a  smart  pace  up  the  length  of  street  that  lay 
before  him.  He  had  not  proceeded  far  when  the  fall  of 
many  footsteps  attracted  his  attention  ;  and  from  the  heavy 
and  measured  tread  it  was  plain  that  a  party  of  soldiers 
was  in  his  neighborhood.  He  stopped  and  held  his  breath  ; 
the  party  was  evidently  getting  nearer  ;  he  had  no  right 
to  be  abroad  at  that  hour,  for  the  curfew  law  had  been  re- 
vived of  late.  He  thought  of  the  letter  he  had  in  his  pos- 
session, and  death  to  himself,  and  discovery  of  the  plot, 
flashed  upon  hie  imagination.  To  tear  the  letter  suggested 
itself  to  him  ;  but  then  it  might  contain  intelligence  of  im- 
portance ;  to  preserve  it,  therefore,  was  desirable  ;  yet  to 
have  it  found,  ciestruction.     What  was  to  be  done  ? 


RORY   O'MORE.  loi 

Listening  intently  to  ascertain  the  quarter  whence  the 
footsteps  approached,  he  was  sensible  thnt  the  party  ad- 
vanced from  the  point  toward  which  he  was  moving  ;  there- 
fore, trusting  to  the  darkness  of  the  night  and  the  lightness 
of  his  heels,  Rory  turned  about,  and  with  that  peculiar 
agility  of  step  so  characteristic  of  his  countrymen,  he  ran 
lightly  down  the  street.  As  he  advanced  toward  the  end 
of  it,  he  perceived  there  was  a  wider  space  beyond  it  ;  and 
knowing  the  shade  of  the  houses  favored  his  escape,  and 
still  hearing  the  footsteps  following  him,  he  dreaded  that 
the  moment  he  should  emerge  from  the  street  into  the  open 
space  he  should  be  seen.  While  this  thought  occurred  to 
him,  he  perceived,  a  few  steps  in  advance  of  him,  a  large, 
old-fashioned  projecting  porch,  whose  clumsy  columns 
and  deep  recesses  suggested  at  once  the  idea  of  conceal- 
ment ;  so,  turning  sharply  up  two  or  three  steps,  he  became 
ensconced  in  the  door-way,  drawing  himself  up  closely  be- 
hind one  of  the  columns. 

As  the  footsteps  advanced,  Rory  could  hear  the  rattle 
of  fire-arms  mingling  with  the  heavy  tramp  of  the  men. 
His  anxiety  was  at  its  height  when  he  saw  the  party  jusc 
before  the  door  ;  "  Another  instant,"  thought  he,  "  and  the 
danger's  past !  "  when,  to  his  consternation,  the  sudden  ex- 
clamation of  "  Halt !  "  brought  the  file  of  men  to  a  dead 
standstill  within  a  few  feet  of  his  place  of  concealment. 
He  now  thought  it  was  all  over  with  him  ;  he  expected  to 
be  dragged  from  his  hiding-place  every  instant,  brought 
before  the  military  authorities,  and  the  letter  he  core  about 
him  being  inevitably  found,  hanged  at  the  drum-head  for 
a  rebel.  He  heard  some  mysterious  mutterings  of  the  cor- 
poral, and  immediately  after,  the  clattering  of  a  couple  of 
bayonets — he  fancied  them  already  in  his  body.  But  still 
he  remained  unmolested,  though  the  file  of  men  yet  stood 
before  him  ;  Rory  scarcely  dared  to  respire. 

It  happened  that  this  house  within  whose  porch  he  had 
taken  refuge  was  inhabited  by  the  colonel  of  the  regiment 
then  quartered  in  the  town.  It  stood  at  the  corner  of  an 
open  and  irregular  space,  called  the  Green,  where  some 
houses  were  scattered  round  a  piece  of  dirty  grass,  and 
geese  and  pigs  used  to  promenade  during  the  day,  and  the 
belles  of  the  town  in  the  evening,  to  hear  the  band  play, 
and  let  the  officers  stare  them  out  of  countenance.  The 
barrack  lay  at  the  upper  end  of  the  street  ;  but  the  quar- 
ters were  so  indifferent,  that  the  colonel  preferred  taking 
up  his  residence  in  this  house,  which  was  removed  froa- 


I02  RORY  O'MORE. 

the  barrack,  it  is  true ;  but,  to  increase  his  security,  which 
the  suspicious  nature  of  tlie  times  rendered  it  necessary, 
in  his  opinion,  to  look  after,  he  had  two  sentinels  stationed 
there,  conducing  not  only  to  his  safety,  but  to  his  conse- 
quence, of  which  tl:ie  colonel  was  not  a  little  vain.  The 
narrowness  of  the  footway  before  the  liouse  would  have 
rendered  sentry-boxes  inconvenient  in  front — therefore, 
they  were  placed  round  the  corner  ;  and  it  was  while  the 
corporal  was  employed  in  relieving  the  guard  at  the  flank 
of  the  house  that  the  file  of  soldiers  remained  before  tiie 
porch. 

This  was  for  some  minutes — for  everybody  knows  that 
such  matters  must  be  conducted  with  that  system  and 
solemnity  so  necessary  to  the  good  of  the  service. 

To  relieve  tlie  guard,  the  corporal  marches  up  one  ox  his 
men  to  face  the  sentinel  on  duty.  These  two  make  a  rat- 
tle with  their  firelocks  and  hold  them  in  a  transverse  posi- 
tion, which  looks  pretty  ;  then  they  advance  to  each  other 
Avith  two  long  strides,  and  stick  their  faces  close  together, 
to  the  manifest  danger  of  flattening  their  noses,  the  corpo- 
ral standing  by  all  the  time,  as  if  to  see  that  they  should 
not  bite  each  other  ;  another  slap  on  their  firelocks  to  rat- 
tle them  ;  then  the  new-comer  goes  over  to  the  sentry-box 
and  the  other  takes  his  place  ;  then  the  corporal  utters 
some  mysterious  grumblings — such  as  "  Haw  !  "  "Who  !  " 
the  men  throw  their  transverse  muskets  upon  their  arms, 
as  if  they  were  going  to  nurse  them  ;  another  grunt  from 
the  corporal — the  relieved  sentinel  joins  the  main  body, 
the  corporal  puts  himself  at  their  head,  gives  another 
mysterious  growl,  and  tramp,  tramp,  they  go,  again  to  per- 
form the  same  interesting  and  intellectual  ceremony  at 
another  sentry-box,  until  having  finished  his  rounds,  the 
corporal  marches  back  into  the  guard-house  twelve  wet 
men,  in  lieu  of  twelve  dry  ones  that  he  took  out. 

While  all  this  "  pomp  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war  " 
was  going  forward,  Rory  was  in  agony.  No  image  is  suf- 
ficient to  express  the  state  of  excitement  his  impatient  na- 
ture underwent  during  the  interval  which  he  thought  an 
age  .•  a  bee  in  a  bottle,  a  schoolboy  in  his  master's  apple- 
tree,  or  a  hen  on  a  hot  griddle,  are  but  faint  figures  of 
speech  for  the  purpose.  Well  was  it  for  Rory  that  the 
rain  continued  to  fall  so  copiously  ! — the  soldiers  buried 
their  faces  deeply  inside  the  collars  of  their  coats,  and  cast 
not  a  glance  toward  the  porch.  Thus,  the  very  inclemency 
of  the  night  was  propitious  to  the  refugee,  who  was  startled 


RORY   O'MORE.  kjj 

once  more,  however,  for  a  moment,  b)'-  the  return  of  the 
corporal,  which  caused  a  movement  among  the  men. 
"  They  see  me  now,"  thought  Rory  to  himself,  and  his 
heart  sunk  when  he  heard  the  words,  "  Fall  in." 

"Oh,  murdher!"  thought  Rory  ;  "if  they  come  in,  I'm 

lost." 

They  did  not  "come  in,"  however,  and  after  another 
growl  from  the  corporal,  which  was  unintelligible,  the 
blessed  sound  of  "  March  !  "  fell  on  Rory's  ear  with  some- 
thing of  the  same  sensation  that  the  announcement  of  a 
reprieve  produces  on  a  prisoner  in  the  condemned  cell  ; 
and  he  saw  the  file  execute  a  "  right-about-face,"  and  go 
the  way  whence  they  came.  Every  successive  tramp  that 
increased  the  distance  between  Rory  and  the  soldiers  took 
a  ton  weight  off  his  heart,  and  as  the  receding  footsteps  of 
the  men  faded  into  distance  he  breathed  freely  again. 

As  soon  as  the  silence  was  perfectly  restored,  Rory 
thought  of  emerging  from  his  place  of  retreat.  Had  he 
been  a  person  conversant  with  the  relieving  of  guards,  he 
would  have  guessed  that  some  such  matter  must  have  been 
the  cause  of  the  scene  just  recorded  :  but  living  a  rural 
life,  as  he  did,  such  martial  mysteries  were  unknown  lo 
hfm'fand  while  he  congratulated  himself  on  being  free 
from  danger  and  contemplated  a  retreat,  he  little  dreamed 
that  at  the  flank  of  the  house  under  whose  porch  he  stood 
a  pair  of  sentinels  were  on  guard.  So,  when  there  was  no 
sound  to  indicate  that  anyone  save  himself  was  on  the 
watch  (for,  it  being  still  raining,  the  sentries  on  the  flank 
kept  most  religiously  bound  within  their  sentry-boxes— 
and  small  blame  to  them),  Rory  thought  he  had  better  be 
off,  and  ventured  to  withdraw  his  body  from  the  small 
space  between  the  column  and  the  wall  into  which  he  had 
miraculously  jammed  himself  :  but  in  the  doing  of  this,  he 
was  obliged,  as  it  were,  to  jerk  himself  out,  and  by  some 
unlucky  chance,  either  in  getting  himself  in  or  out,  the 
cape  of  his  coat  caught  in  a  bell-pull,  and  in  the  effort  to 
free  himself  he  felt  that  he  was  laid  hold  of  by  the  shoulder, 
and  heard  at  the  same  instant  of  time  the  sound  of  a  bell. 
Those  who  have  felt  what  it  is  to  be  in  nervous  situations 
will  not  wonder  that  Rory's  heart  jumped  as  he  felt  him- 
self  caught,  and  heard  at  the  same  moment  a  sound  whose 
very  purpose  is  to  awake  attention.  And  it  was  such  a 
bell  !  none  of  your  trifling  tinklers,  none  of  your  little 
whipper-snapper  sort  of  bells  ;  not  like  the  bark  of  a  Blen- 
heim, but  the  bay  of  a  watch-dog  i  not  like  a  muffin-mer- 


t04  RORY   O'MORE. 

chant's,  but  a  dustman's  ;  not  merely  made  to  call  Molly 
up-stairs — but  one  of  your  deep-mouthed  devils,  doomed 
to  destroy  the  repose  of  half  a  street  ;  in  short,  a 

' '  dreadful  bell, 

To  fright  the  isle  from  its  propriety." 

Rory  stood  aghast !  Had  the  metal  that  composed  this 
"  infernal  machine  "  been  molten  and  cast  down  his  throat, 
it  could  not  have  astonished  him  more  ;  besides,  it  seemed 
as  if  it  would  never  have  done  ringing.  We  hear  great 
complaints  in  our  days  of  bell-hangers  ;  but  those  of  old, 
to  judge  from  the  case  in  question,  must  have  been  prime 
hands — for  on  it  went,  ding,  ding,  ding,  as  if  it  really  had 
a  pleasure  in  ringing.  Whether  itw^as  the  specific  gravity 
of  the  monster  that  produced  so  much  vivacity  in  the 
spring  on  which  it  was  suspended,  or  the  superior  skill  of 
former  bell-hangers,  may  remain  a  matter  of  dispute  to 
the  curious  ;  but  the  fact  that  resulted  (and  facts  are  all 
v,'e  have  to  do  with)  is,  that  ere  the  bell  had  ceased  its  vil- 
lainous vibrations,  Rory  heard  a  window  raised  above  his 
head,  and  the  demand  of  "  Who's  there  ?"  in  no  very  gra- 
cious voice. 

Rory  kept  profoundly  quiet. 

"Who's  there  ?"  was  again  snarled  out. 

Rory  looked  up  from  the  shelter  of  the  porch,  and  saw 
Si  head  and  a  nightcap  protruded  from  the  window  ;  he  was 
as  quiet  as  a  mouse. 

^'  Sentry  !  "  was  the  next  word  Rory  heard,  given  in  a 
most  authoritative  tone. 

A  gust  of  wind  and  a  dash  of  rain  whirled  round  the 
corner,  which  must  have  convinced  the  colonel  (for  it  was 
he  who  was  calling  from  the  window)  that  his  voice  could 
not  have  reached  the  sentinels  in  the  teeth  of  the  blast 
which  blew  his  nightcap  off  his  head  and  dashed  it  into 
Rory's  face. 

Rory  was  nearly  knocked  down — for  the  smallest  thing 
upsets  us  when  we  are  alarmed. 

"  Sentry  !  "  was  shouted  louder  than  before. 

The  soldiers  answered  the  summons.  The  colonel  asked 
who  rang  the  bell — the  sentries  did  not  know. 

"  You  have  been  asleep  !  "  said  the  colonel. 

"No,  your  honor,"  said  the  sentry,  "we  couldn't;  the 
guard  has  been  but  just  relieved  !  " 

"  Have  you  seen  no  one  passing  ?" 

"  No,  your  honor — no  one  has  passed  at  this  side  ;  and 


RORY   CMORE,  loj 

we  marched  down  the  other  street  not  five  minutes  ago, 
and  not  a  living  soul  was  in  it." 

"  Then  what  could  have  rung  the  bell  ? " 

"  'Twas  only  a  mistake,  sir,"  said  Rory,  whose  excite- 
ment had  been  wound  to  such  intensity  that  his  eagerness 
to  satisfy  the  question  overlooked  the  consequence  to  his 
personal  safety,  in  the  sound  of  his  voice  being  heard  ;  but 

the  instant  he  had  spoken,  he  said  to  himself,  "the  d 1 

cut  the  tongue  out  of  you,  Rory." 

Fortunately,  the  gust  of  wind  and  splashing  of  rain  ren- 
dered all  sounds  and  the  points  whence  they  came  uncer- 
tain. Nevertheless,  the  colonel  looked  toward  the  porch  ; 
but  seeing  no  one,  he  said  to  the  sentry  : 

"What's  that  you  say  about  a  mistake  ?" 

*  No,  your  honor,  I  don't  mistake,"  said  the  sentry,  who 
was  equally  uncertain  with  the  colonel  whether  a  third 
person  had  spoken,  and  fancied  he  had  been  charged  with 
making  a  mistake. 

"Didn't  you  say  something  about  a  mistake  ?"  asked  th^i^ 
colonel,  in  one  of  the  pauses  of  the  storm. 

"  No,  your  honor,"  said  the  sentry. 

Just  at  this  moment,  when  Rory  was  thinking  if  h; 
hadn't  better  make  a  run  for  it  at  once,  he  heard  the  bolt 
of  the  door  behind  him  gently  drawn,  and  the  instant  after 
a  pluck  at  his  coat,  and  a  whispered  "  Come  in,"  made  him 
turn  round.  He  saw  the  door  stand  ajar,  and  a  hami 
beckon  him  forward,  at  the  same  moment  that  the  voice  of 
the  colonel  from  the  window  said,  "  See  if  there's  anyont 
hiding  in  the  porch." 

Rory  slipped  inside  the  hall-door,  which  was  softly  closes 
as  the  sentry  walked  tip  the  steps. 

"  There's  no  one  here,  your  honor,"  said  the  sentry. 

"  Push  the  door,"  said  the  colonel. 

The  sentry  did  so  ;  but  the  door  had  been  fastened  on 
the  inside. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


Showing  that  One  Half  of  the  World  does  not  Know  how  the  Other  Half 
Lives  ;  and  also,  that  Soft  Words,  can  Bend  Hard  Iron,  Though  They 
do  not  Butter  Parsnips. 

Very  much  about  the  time  that  Rory  O'More  rushed 
from  the  cellar  and  endeavored  to  make  his  way  out  of  the 
town,  there  was  an  old  tinker,  driving  an  ass  before  him, 


io6  RORY   O'MORE. 

making  his  way  into  it.  From  the  rudely-constructed  strad* 
die  of  the  sorry  animal  three  or  four  rusty  kettles,  and  a 
budget  containing  the  implements  of  the  tinker's  trad'?, 
depended  ;  but  the  straddle  \\^'&  worth  more  than  it  looked 
good  for — for  the  tinker  had  so  contrived  the  panels  of  the 
lumbering  affair,  that  a  convenient  space  was  left  within 
for  stowing  away  tobacco,  which  he  bought  from  Monsieur 
De  Welskein,  and  sold  at  a  handsome  profit  to  the  peas- 
antry, during  his  wanderings  among  them — for  they  could 
get  none  so  good  or  so  cheap  through  the  legitimate  chan- 
nel :  besides,  they  were  glad  to  give  a  helping  hand  to  the 
old  tinker,  whose  poverty  and  shrewdness  commanded  at 
once  their  pity  and  their  fear. 

It  may  seem  strange  to  class  these  two  feelings  together 
— but  they  often  exist.  They  say  "Pity  is  akin  to  love  ;" 
but  it  is  equally  true  that  "  Love  is  related  to  fear  :  " — and 
thus,  perhaps,  a  sort  of  relationship  may  be  established  be- 
tween them. 

I  should  not  have  made  any  observation  on  this,  but 
that  I  do  not  remember  seeing  it  remarked  elsewhere,  and 
when  one  advances  anything  new,  it  is  common  even  to 
one's  self  to  be  startled  at  it,  and  a  desire  is  at  once  engen- 
dered to  make  it  manifest  that  one  has  not  committed  aj 
absurdity. 

Now,  I  remember  well,  when  a  child,  that  I  was  often 
horrified  by  the  presence  of  a  certain  old  and  disgusting 
beggar-man  ;  yet  I  constantly  gave  him  alms.  There  was 
something  in  that  old  man  I  dreaded  ;  and  yet,  I  remember, 
even  to  this  day,  I  pitied  him.  To  be  sure,  the  virtue  of 
charity  had  been  early  instilled  into  my  mind  by  one  who 
now,  I  trust,  in  heaven  enjoys  the  reward  of  her  goodness  ; 
and  so  gracious  and  winning  is  the  habit  of  doing  charity's 
holy  offices,  that  even  to  the  innocent  child,  on  whom 
neither  want  nor  reason  can  have  impressed  the  value  of 
the  virtue  he  is  taught,  there  is  something  pleasant  in  the 
timorous  droppings  of  a  half-penny  from  its  pure  and  dim- 
pled fingers  into  the  soiled  and  withered  palm  of  age  :  as 
if  Heaven  had  pre-ordained  that  no  weakness  or  antipathy 
of  our  nature  should  interfere  with  the  sacred  duty — a  duty 
so  sacred  that  even  our  Lord  himself  made  its  beauty  the 
theme  of  a  parable,  and  reproved  the  intolerant  Jew  with 
the  mild  precept  of  "  Go  thou  and  do  likewise." 

Solomon,  for  that  was  the  tinker's  name,  was  pitied  and 
feared  ;  for  he  seemed  to  be  poor,  and  was  known  to  be 
penetrating.     He  had  a  prying  temper   and  a  tenacious 


RORY   O'MORE.  107 

memory.  The  former  led  him  to  a  knowledge  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  most  of  the  people  of  all  classes  in  the  coun- 
try where  he  made  his  rounds,  and  the  latter  treasured  up 
the  information.  Thus  the  past  and  present  w^ere  alike 
familiar  to  him  ;  and  from  these,  his  natural  acuteness  w^as 
often  enabled  to  presage  the  future. 

Such  a  power,  in  the  uncalculating  community  among 
whom  he  moved,  gave  him  a  reputation  little  short  of  witch- 
craft. He  was  caUed  "a  mighty  knowledgeable  man  " — and 
"knowledge  is  power;"  and  where  did  human  power 
ever  exist,  that  its  influence  has  not  been  dreaded  and  its 
possession  abused  ?  This  w^as  fully  exemplified  in  the  case 
of  the  old  tinker— he  was  feared,  not  loved,  by  the  peas- 
antry ;  and  yet,  though  no  one  liked  him,  there  was,  from  a 
dread  of  offending,  all  the  demonstrations  of  civility  shown 
him  that  love  would  have  procured.  The  tinker  was  quite 
aware  of  the  position  he  held,  and  of  its  cause  ;  and  his  bit- 
terness, for  he  was  bitter,  enjoyed  the  triumph  of  forcing 
these  pretended  testimonies  of  affection,  and  he  laughed  at 
the  perjury  of  the  heart.  "  Hypocrisy  is  the  homage  that 
vice  pays  to  virtue."  How  often  is  a  smile  the  tribute  that 
fear  pays  to  power  ! 

Nevertheless,  with  this  dread — it  may  almost  be  said,  dis- 
like— that  he  inspired,  he  w\as  pitied,  from  his  apparent 
wretched  and  desolate  condition.  Home  he  had  none,  nor 
living  thing  wnth  whom  he  held  continued  companionship, 
except  the  poor  ass  he  drove,  whose  food  was  a  nibble  from 
the  road-side,  unless  when  it  was  bestowed  by  the  same 
friendly  hand  that  gave  food  to  his  master — for  Solomon 
never  paid  for  anything  except  w^hat  he  traded  on.  The 
love  of  money  ruled  his  fellow-men  ;  and  though  he  pos- 
sessed the  superior  acuteness  that  governed  intelligent 
creatures,  he  was  himself  the  senseless  slave  of  an  inani- 
mate metal.  He  was  a  miser — a  miser  in  the  fullest  sense 
of  the  word  ;  not  loving  money  for  the  sake  of  what  money 
can  procure,  but  loving  it  for  its  own  sake — worshipping  the 
mere  thing  ;  to  him  a  guinea  was  a  god.  To  such  a  wretch, 
to  starve  was  easier  than  to  pay  ;  therefore,  he  never  tasted 
food  except  it  was  given  to  him  ;  and  even  on  these  terms 
he  seldom  wanted,  for  he  laid  the  country  under  contribu- 
tion, from  the  kitchen  of  the  squire  to  the  peasant's  pot  of 
potatoes.  With  all  this,  he  v.^as  stealthy  and  roguish  as  a 
fox,  tortuous  and  treacherous  as  a  snake — secret,  cold,  and 
greedy  as  the  grave. 

Yet,  with  the  characteristic  touch  of  fun  that  pervades 


lo8  RORY  O'MORR. 

everything  Irish,  this  hateful  old  miscreant  had  a  comical 
name  bestowed  on  him — he  was  called  "  Sawdhering  Solo- 
mon," from  his  profession  of  tinker  ;  and  this  was  the  name 
he  commonly  went  by,  though  sometimes  it  was  changed 
for  "  Solomon  Sly."  Neither  of  these  names  was  meant 
of  course,  to  reach  his  ears  ;  but  he  was  made  cognizant  of 
them  by  means  of  the  little  boys,  who  hated  him  openly, 
and  who  shouted  the  name  after  him  when  they  were  quite 
sure  of  being  out  of  the  reach  of  the  old  tinker's  crooked 
stick  ;  and  sometimes  the  urchins  ventured  so  far  as  even  to 
throw  stones  or  clods  at  him  when  they  had  the  ambuscade 
of  a  hedge  and  the  intervention  of  a  ditch  to  screen  and 
protect  them.  On  these  occasions,  Solomon  might  get  *a 
whack  on  the  back  from  a  stone,  or  have  a  dry  clod  judi- 
ciously lobbed  under  his  ear,  powdering  his  wig  with  all  the 
breaking  particles  of  earth  that  did  not  run  down  between 
his  clothes  and  his  back.  Then  would  he  turn  round  to 
strike  with  his  stick  ;  but  the  retiring  laugh  and  footsteps 
of  children  at  the  other  side  of  the  hedge  were  all  that 
were  manifest  to  Solomon  ;  and  then  would  the  old  vaga- 
bond grin  and  shake  his  stick  with  the  expression  of  a  fiend,, 
and  utter  horrible  curses  on  the  thoughtless  urchins.  And 
though  the  provocation  was  unjustifiable,  it  is  true,  yet 
there  is  something  abhorrent  in  the  idea  of  cursing  child- 
hood, particularly  as  the  vindictive  old  tinker  used  to 
curse. 

It  was  about  tlie  time  that  Rory  O'More  was  leaving  the 
cellar  that  Solomon,  I  say,  was  making  his  way  into  town, 
at  whose  outskirts  he  made  a  detour  from  the  high-road 
and  drove  his  ass  up  a  little  lane,  at  the  end  of  which  there 
was  a  small  haggart,^  whose  fence  was  only  a  low  wall  of 
loose  stones  and  some  furze-buslies.  Solomon  very  coolly 
abstracted  some  stones,  pulled  away  some  of  the  furze,  and 
made  a  way  for  his  ass  to  enter  the  haggart,  where,  placing 
him  between  two  small  stacks  of  hay,  he  procured  shelter 
and  provender  for  the  poor  mute.  Fle  then  lifted  the 
straddle  and  his  old  kettles  from  the  ass'  back,  and  with- 
drew from  the  premises,  carrying  his  goods  to  some  dis- 
tance, where,  under  a  hedge,  he  let  them  lie  ;  and  marking 
the  spot  well,  he  proceeded  alone  to  the  town  and  made 
for  the  cellar  of  the  smuggler. 

It  was  only  in  his  capacity  of  smuggler  that  De  Wel- 
■skein  held  any  communication  with  the  tinker.  Solomon, 
though   he  guessed  that  an  extensive  conspiracy  was  oa 

*  Hay-yard, 


JiOKY   O' 31  ORE,  109 

foot,  yet,  wise  as  he  was,  he  did  not  know  any  individual 
*jngaged  in  it,  for  none  would  trust  him  to  belong  to  the 
Union,  and  those  who  engaged  in  it  kept  the  secret  invio- 
late— singularly  so,  indeed,  for  in  all  the  thousands  who 
liad  sworn,  there  was  but  one  found  to  betray,  and  he  en- 
tered the  confederation  for  the  very  purpose. 

When  the  unfortunate  girl  whom  Rory  had  left  sobbing 
in  the  cellar  had  recovered  from  her  outbreak  of  grief,  she 
arose  from  the  bench  on  which  she  had  flung  herself  in  her 
passion  of  tears,  and  the  feelings  that  had  possessed  her 
heart  changed  from  lawless  love  to  bitter  hate — for 

"  Hell  has  no  fury  like  a  woman  scorn'd  ;" 

and  cursing  the  man  that  had  made  her  feel  such  degrada- 
tion,  she  quitted  the  den  of  riot  and  iniquity,  leaving  the 
beastly  revellers  sunk  in  besotted  slumber.  When  Solo- 
mon, therefore,  reached  the  cellar,  and  tapped  stealthily 
at  the  door,  he  received  no  answer.  On  knocking  again 
more  loudly,  the  door  yielded  to  his  touch,  and  pushing  it 
gently  open,  he  looked  cavitiously  into  the  cellar.  He  saw 
a  dim  lamp,  overturned  drinking  vessels,  and  prostrate  fig- 
iires,  and  heard  the  heavy  snoring  of  drunken  sleep.  He 
advanced  noiselessly,  and  looked  carefully  about  ;  and 
when  he  found  that  deep  and  real  slumber  reigned  around 
him,  he  cast  about  his  searching  eyes,  and  his  heart  (if  he 
had  such  a  thing)  was  gladdened  at  the  thought  of  being  a 
gainer  by  the  universal  swinishness  in  which  his  friends 
were  buried.  He  stole  softly  over  to  the  truckle-bed  under 
which  the  tobacco  was  hid,  and,  going  on  all-fours,  he 
looked  to  see  if  there  was  a  roll  of  it  within  easy  reach — for 
the  legs  of  one  of  the  sleepers  hung  over  the  side  and  made 
a  sort  of  barrier. 

He  crawled  nearer,  and,  with  the  aid  of  his  crooked 
stick,  abstracted  a  parcel  of  the  precious  weed  from  its 
place  of  concealment  ;  and  then,  with  the  stealthiness  of  a 
cat,  he  stole  back  to  the  door,  which  he  closed  gently  after 
him  and  retreated  with  his  booty. 

Now,  it  was  to  buy  tobacco  that  the  tinker  had  made  his 
visit  to  De  Welskein  ;  and  he  chuckled  at  the  thought  of 
getting  the  merchandise  without  the  transfer  of  coin,  and 
hugged  the  roll  of  tobacco  to  his  heart  with  the  passion  of 
a  lover.  To  re-cram  the  panel  of  his  ass'  straddle,  and  de- 
part after  his  exploit,  was  Solomon's  first  intention  as  he 
sneaked  back  toward  the  haggart  where  his  ass  was  com 


iro  RORY  O'MORE. 

mitting  robbery  also  :  but  another  idea  rose,  and  he  slack- 
ened his  pace  while  he  conned  it  over,  and  on  second 
thoughts  he  considered  it  more  advisable  to  make  his  visit 
to  De  Welskein,  as  it  was  about  the  period  that  worthy 
knew  he  had  intended  calling  ;  and  if  the  abstracted  to- 
bacco should  be  missed,  his  unusual  absence  might  direct 
suspicion  against  him,  as  it  was  some  time  since  Solomon 
had  made  a  purchase,  and  De  Welskein  knew  that  tobacco 
was  what  Solomon  could  not  do  without.  Therefore,  in- 
stead of  going  back  to  the  haggart,  he  went  to  a  neighbor- 
ing lane  where  he  knew  the  forge  of  a  blacksmith  stood, 
and  poking  and  scraping  out  with  his  stick  and  hands  a 
hole  out  of  a  heap  of  cinders  and  ashes  that  stood  near  the 
door,  he  concealed  the  treasure  beneath  it  and  returned  to 
the  cellar.  He  knocked  again,  lest  any  of  its  inmates 
might  have  awoke  in  the  interval  ;  and  finding  all  as  silent 
as  before,  he  entered,  and  approaching  De  Welskein,  he 
shook  him  by  the  shoulder  till  he  roused  him,  and  said  : 

"  One  ud  think  you  had  nothing  to  be  afeard  iv,  when 
you  sleep  with  the  door  open." 

De  Welskein  rubbed  his  eyes,  stared  up  at  Solomon, 
uttered  a  great  many  "  Sacres,"  and  ^^  Diables,"  and  pro- 
ceeded to  wake  the  rest  of  the  party  and  demand  the  cause 
of  the  door  being  open.  They  were  all  bewildered,  being 
still  half  drunk,  but  after  much  blustering  and  swearing, 
Rory  O'More  at  last  was  missed,  and  also  the  girl  with 
whom  he  had  been  dancing.  This  was  conclusive  of  how 
the  circumstances  had  occurred,  and  De  Welskein's  rage 
and  abuse  of  Rory  were  furious.  Regan,  too,  threw  in  his 
word  of  censure  ;  and,  among  them  all,  poor  Rory  had 
more  foul  words  applied  to  him  than  he  ever  had  before 
in  the  same  space  of  time. 

"  Who  is  that  you're  blessin',  all  o'  yiz  ? "  said  Solo- 
mon. 

*' That  scatthered-brained  swaggerer  Rory  O'More,"  said 
Regan. 

"  Rory  O'More  !"  said  Solomon,  who  knew  Rory's  habits 
were  not  likely  to  lead  him  into  the  disorderly  set  ;  why, 
what  brought  him  here?"  and  he  looked  sharply  at  De 
Welskein,  as  much  as  to  say,  *'  There's  a  mystery." 

"  Why,  sare  ?  if  you  go  for  dat  raoche,  what  ior  you  come 
here  ?— ha  !  " 

"  Oh,  you  know  yourself,  munseer,"  said  Solomon,  "what 
brings  me  here  ;  but " 

"  Well,  sare,"  said  De  Welskein,  interrupting  him,  "  and 


kORY   O'MORE.  Ill 

me  know  what  bring  de  osser  gentleman,  too  :  das  nuff  fur 
me — nassing  to  you." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  onaisy,"  said  Solomon,  coolly — "  I  don't 
want  to  5moke  your  saycrets." 

"  No,  G d  d n  !  you  old  rog  !  you  not  smoke  me, 

you  razzer  smoke  my  tabac." 

Solomon  looked  toward  the  Frenchman,  to  see  if  there 
was  any  meaning  in  his  eye  when  he  spoke  of  his  tobacco  ; 
but  he  saw  his  secret  was  safe.  The  Frenchman  pro- 
ceeded : 

"  Dere  !  you  set  down — you  old  rog — vieux  chaudronnier 
dc  campagnc — seet  down,  smoke  your  tabac  and  drenk,  and 
nebber  mind  nussin  else  !  " 

Solomon  did  as  he  was  desired  ;  he  took  a  pipe  and 
mixed  a  stiff  glass  of  brandy-and-water,  after  tossing  off  a 
couple  of  glasses  pure,  to  warm  his  heart,  as  he  said  him- 
self, "afther  the  cruel  wettin'  he  got." 

"  Warm  his  heart  indeed  !  "  said  one  of  the  men,  aside  ; 
"  faith,  all  the  sper'ts  in  Ireland,  and  all  the  turf  in  the  bog 
of  Allen,  wouldn't  warm  it." 

De  Welskein  took  Regan  aside,  and  expressed  great  dis- 
pleasure against  Rory  for  leaving  him  without  saying 
where  De  Lacy  was  to  be  found  ;  but  Regan  set  him  at 
rest  on  that  subject  by  telling  him  he  knew  Rory's  place 
of  abode,  and  would  conduct  him  to  it  if  he  liked.  This 
consoled  the  Frenchman,  and  he  again  lay  down  to  sleep, 
requesting  more  care  might  be  taken  about  the  door. 
Solomon  continued  to  smoke  and  drink  until  the  approach 
of  dawn,  when  the  man  called  Pierre  let  him  out  of  the 
cellar,  and  he  went  back  to  the  haggart,  having  made  the 
best  bargain  he  could  for  some  tobacco,  and  getting  his 
pocket-pistol,  as  he  called  a  tolerably  capacious  tin  flask, 
filled  with  brandy,  as  a  bonus  for  his  '■'■  takiii  siich  a  power  o' 
tobakky  from  them,'''  as  he  said  himself  ;  and  the  equivoke 
gave  poignancy  to  the  pleasure  of  his  theft. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  haggart,  he  abstracted  his  ass 
from  the  haystack,  which  the  ass  seemed  loath  to  quit,  and 
before  retiring,  the  little  beast  made  a  last  desperate 
plunge  into  the  hay,  and  dragged  away  so  large  a  mouth- 
ful, that  it  trailed  after  him  all  the  way  from  the  stack  to 
the  gap  where  Solomon  now  led  him  out,  and  the  poor  in- 
nocent haystack  looked  very  much  in  the  condition  of  a 
hot  loaf  out  of  which  Master  Tommy  has  had  his  wicked 
will. 

Solomon  replaced  the  stones  and  the  furze-bush,  and  led 


112  RORY   O'MORE. 

off  his  ass  to  the  hedge  where  the  straddle  was  secreted , 
there  he  stuffed  it  with  the  purchased  tobacco  (the  stolen 
roll  still  lay  where  the  tinker  had  concealed  it)  ;  and 
mounting  his  wallet  and  his  kettles  on  the  back  of  the  ass, 
he  drove  him  away  from  the  field  as  soon  as  sunrise  per- 
mitted him  lawfully  to  appear  on  the  road. 

What  did  he  do  then  ? 

He  had  the  impudence  to  march  up  the  lane  that  led  to 
the  haggart,  driving  his  ass  before  him  and  crying  loudly, 
"  Pots,  pans,  and  kittles  to  mind."  The  ass  turned  a  long- 
ing look  toward  the  haggart,  and  a  whack  from  Solomon's 
stick  was  required  to  remind  him  that  tinkers'  asses  must 
not  eat  hay  by  daylight.  Solomon  now  approached  the 
dwelling  to  which  the  plundered  haggart  was  attached, 
and  found  the  family  awake  and  doing  ;  the  man  went  out 
to  work,  and  the  woman,  in  answer  to  Solomon's  request 
to  know  "  if  there  was  any  pots,  pans,  and  kittles  to  mind," 
produced  a  certain  tin  saucepan,  with  a  demand  to  know 
"  what  would  he  take  to  repair  it  ?  not  that  it  wanted  it 
much,"  she  said,  "  only,  divil  take  it  !  it  put  out  the  fire 
always  when  it  was  put  on,  but  didn't  lake  a  great  dale  at 
all." 

"Why,  tare  an'  ouns,  woman,"  cried  Solomon,  holding 
up  the  vessel  between  him  and  the  sk}^,  "there's  a  hole  in 
it  you  could  dhrive  a  coach  thro'." 

"  Arrah,  be  aisy  !  "  says  the  woman. 

"  Look  at  it  yourself,"  says  Solomon,  letting  the  sauce- 
pan down. 

A  little  child  now  popped  his  finger  through  the  hole, 
and  wagging  it  backward  and  forward,  said  : 

"  Look,  mammy  !  "  and  grinned  as  if  he  had  done  a  very 
clever  thing. 

The  mother  gave  him  a  box  on  the  ear,  calling  him 
"  a  divil  "  at  the  same  time,  and  sending  him  yelping 
away, 

"  Faith,  that's  a  'cute  child  !  "  said  Solomon,  grinning  a 
horrid  smile  ;  "  he'd  make  an  illigant  tinker,  he  sees  a  hole 
in  a  pot  so  well." 

"  The  meddlin'  cur  !  "  said  the  mother.  "Well,  what'll 
you  put  a  bit  o'  sawdher  on  it  for  ? " 

"  A  bit  o'  sawdher,  indeed  !  "  said  Solomon,  "  Oh,  faith. 
It's  a  piece  o'  tin  I  must  insart  into  it." 

"  Divil  an  insart,"  says  the  woman,  "  you'll  insart  my 
saucepan,  my  good  man  !  Sawdher  is  all  it  wants — just  a 
weeshee  taste  o'  sawdher." 


RORY  O'MORE.  113 

"Cock  you  up  with  my  sawdher,  indeed  !  "  said  Solo- 
mon ;  "  why,  'twould  take  more  than  all  the  sawdher  I  have 
to  stop  it.  Sure,  sawdher  is  as  dear  as  tin  ;  and  rawzin's 
riz." 

"  Arrah,  why  would  rawzin  be  riz  ? " 

*'  There  was  sich  a  power  o'  fiddlers  to  be  at  the  fair  next 
week,  that  they  bought  all  the  rawzin  up." 

*'  Ah,  go  'long  wid  you  !  " 

"  It's  truth  I'm  tellin'  you." 

"  Well,  what  will  you  take  for  the  saucepan  ?  " 

"  I'll  mind  it  for  fourpince." 

"  Fourpince  !  Oh,  where  do  you  expec'  to  go  when  you 
die?     Fourpence,  indeed  !     I'll  give  you  tupp'ns." 

"Couldn't,"  says  Solomon,  shaking  his  head  and  goin^^." 
to  drive  away  the  ass. 

"  Well,  what  will  you  say  ?  "  said  the  woman. 

"Well,  see  now,"  said  Solomon,  "I'm  tired  with  thravei/- 
]ing  a'most  all  night,  and  I'm  wantin'  rest  ;  and  indeed  I'  I 
be  glad  to  sit  down,  if  it  was  only  to  rest,  let  alone  doin'  1 
job  and  airnin'  a  thrifle  ;  and  indeed  I  want  it  bad,  for  th,; 
times  is  hard  ;  and  so  God  bless  you,  if  you'll  just  throjir 
in  a  thrifle  o'  brequest  into  the  bargain  and  gi'  me  tupp'ri 
ha'pny,  I'll  make  the  saucepan  as  good  as  new." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  be  hard  with  you,  my  poor  man,  an  I 
so  you  may  do  it." 

So  down  sat  the  tinker  and  opened  his  budget  ;  and  h?? 
iron  was  heated  and  his  "sawdher"  produced,  not  forget- 
ting the  "rawzin"  that  was  "riz;"  and  bits  of  old  titi 
were  produced  from  his  budget,  into  which  the  childreri 
looked  with  the  most  profound  curiosity,  endeavoring  to 
fathom  the  depth  of  its  mysterious  treasures.  Other  bits 
of  tin  dazzled  their  longing  eyes,  and  great  shears  seemed 
placed  there  to  guard  the  invaluable  store  from  plunder. 
Solomon  cut  and  rasped  and  hammered  away,  and  rubbing 
his  hot  soldering-iron  upon  his  powdered  rosin  and  solder, 
he  raised  so  great  a  smoke  and  so  bad  a  smell,  that  the 
children  looked  on  him  as  some  wonderful  conjurer  ;  and 
as  they  saw  the  bright  streaks  that  his  implement  produced 
wherever  it  was  rubbed,  their  delight  was  profound. 

When  the  man  of  the  house  returned  to  breakfast,  he 
saw  Solomon  seated  at  the  door  mending  the  leaky  vessel, 
and  his  children  standing  round  him  in  wonder,  and  as 
soon  as  the  job  was  done,  Solomon  was  called  in  to  break- 
fast. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  said  the  husband  to  the  wife. 


114  RORY   O'MORE. 

"  What  ?  "  said  she. 

"  That  blackguard  calf  got  over  the  wall  o'  the  luggart 
again  last  night  and  made  a  holy  show  o'  the  haystack." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  tell  me  so  ?  "  said  the  wife. 

"  Luck  to  the  lie  in  it  !"  said  the  husband. 

Solomon  kept  eating  his  breakfast  with  the  piost  pro- 
found indifference  until  the  husband  and  wife  had  eX" 
hausted  their  eloquence,  and  then  he  said  : 

"Them  cawves  is  great  rogues." 

"The  divil  run  a-huntin'  with  them  for  a  calf !  Oh,  wait 
till  the  next  time  I  ketcli  him  !" 

"  Poor  thing,  poor  thing !  "  said  Solomon,  tenderly,  "  sure, 
it's  nath'ral  they'd  ate  ! " 

"  'Faith,  he  may  be  contint  with  his  good  grass,  I  think," 
said  the  man. 

"  Thrue  for  you — thrue  for  you,"  said  Solomon,  ten- 
derly :  "  but  it's  remarkable  how  bowld  some  o'  them 
cawves  is." 

Breakfast  was  finished — the  job  paid  for — the  wallet  re- 
placed on  the  ass  amid  the  observ^ation  and  regret  of  all 
the  children,  who  watched  the  old  tinker  and  saw  him  de- 
part with  sorrow  as  he  drove  his  ass  down  the  lane,  after 
getting  a  job  and  begging  a  breakfast  from  the  man  he  had 
robbed  over-night. 

Solomon  now  proceeded  to  the  town,  and  went  to  the 
forge  beside  whicli  he  had  deposited  the  tobacco.  Here 
he  had  a  plausible  pretext  to  go,  for  the  shoes  of  the  ass 
wanted  to  be  looked  to.  On  his  arrival  at  the  forge,  the 
smith  was  unoccupied,  so  there  was  more  time  to  spare  for 
Solomon  to  make  as  hard  a  bargain  as  he  could  for  the 
execution  of  the  job. 

"  Maybe  you  could  let  me  make  an  exchange  wid  you  ? 
and  if  you  would  have  anything  in  the  tinkerin'  line  to  do, 
sure  I'd  do  it  for  nothin'  for  you,  if  you'd  do  the  ass  for 
nothin'." 

"  Not  a  pot,  nor  pan,  nor  kittle  have  I,"  said  the  black- 
smith ;  "  I'm  a  bachelor,  and  intind  to  stay  so." 

In  the  meantime  he  began  to  examine  the  ass'  shoes  ; 
and  the  tobacco  with  which  the  straddle  was  lined,  being 
so  near  his  nose,  the  smith  began  to  snuff,  and  said  at  last, 
"  Where  the  dickins  is  the  tabakky  ?  " 

Solomon,  who  caught  the  sound  of  the  first  sniff  the 
smith  had  given,  saw  directly  how  matters  stood,  and 
hastened  to  the  rescue  ;  he  got  close  beside  the  ass,  and  to 
ihe  smith's  inquiry  he  said  ; 


RORY  O'MORE.  115 

"  It's  here  in  my  pocket,  and  mighty  fine  tabakky  it  is 
— see,  1  got  a  bargain  o'  some  from  a  friencj  a  while  agon, 
and — but  don't  mintion  it — if  you  like  I'll  share  the  bar- 
gain wid  you,  to  the  value  of  a  new  set  o'  shoes  for  the 
baste." 

"  Gor  !  that  ud  be  a  power  o'  tabakky  !  "  said  the  smith. 

"But  it's  illigant  tabakky!"  said  Solomon.  Pulling 
from  his  pocket  several  yards  of  the  material,  wound  into 
a  close  ball,  and  popping  it  under  the  smith's  nose,  he 
said  :  "  What  do  you  think  of  that,  your  sowl  ? " 

'*  Faix,  that  is  tarein'  tabakky,  sure  enough  !  "  was  the 
delighted  smith's  reply. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  to  a  new  set  o'  shoes  for  the 
baste  ?  "  said  Solomon. 

"  I  dunna,"  was  the  undecided  answer. 

"  You  know  you'll  have  the  owld  shoes  in." 

"  To  be  sure  I  will,"  said  the  smith  ;  "  sure,  that's  only 
nath'ral ;  but  what  good  is  a  little  ass'  shoes  ?" 

"  Oh,  shoes  is  shoes,"  said  Solomon. 

"  Why,  tare  alive,  they  are  wore  as  thin  as  a  sixpence." 

'"Deed,  that  is  thrue,"  said  Solomon,  "for  the  last  set 
he  had  an  him  was  from  the  finest  smith  in  Ireland  ;  they 
wore  powerful." 

"  Arrah,  who's  that  ?"  said  the  workman,  piqued  at  the 
mention  of  the  finest  smith  in  Ireland,  he  himself  not  being 
the  person  meant. 

"  Why,  who  would  it  be  but  Brian  Branagan  ?  "  said 
Solomon,  who  well  knew  that  Brian  Branagan  was  the 
rival  of  the  man  who  stood  before  him,  and  living  in  the 
adjoining  lane,  but  who  had  never  made  shoes  for  the  tink- 
er's ass  in  his  life. 

This  was  a  master-touch  of  Solomon — the  smith  bristled 
directly  for  the  palm  of  superiority. 

"  Why,  thin,  is  it  Branagan  you  say  is  the  finest  smith  in 
Ireland?" 

"  Yis,"  said  Solomon,  very  quietly. 

"Troth,  then,  it's  little  yoti  know  about  it.  Branagan, 
indeed  !  The  divil  a  bigger  botch  ever  dhruv  a  nail  than 
the  same  Branagan  ;  he  a  smith  !  " 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  purtend  to  know,  indeed,"  said  Solomon, 
with  an  affected  air  of  not  wishing  to  offend,  at  the  same 
time  laying  hold  of  the  halter  of  the  ass.  "  But  he's  good 
enough  for  me,  anyhow  ;  good  mornin'  kindly  to  you,"  said 
he,  going. 

This  was  too  much  for  the  smith. 


ii6  RORY   O'MORE. 

"  Come  back  here,  I  tell  you  !  it's  I  that'll  show  you 
what  a  set  of  shoes  is  ;  Branagan  indeed  !" 

"  Well,  will  you  take  what  I  said  ?  "  said  Solomon,  af- 
fecting not  to  care  much  whether  the  smith  did  or  not. 

"Yis,  yis,  but  never  say  the  word  Branagan  to  me  !" 
Here  he  laid  hold  of  his  pincers,  knife  and  hammer,  and 
began  to  knock  off  the  points  of  the  nails  from  each  hoof, 
and  pull  off  the  ass'  shoes — every  drag  he  gave,  which  was 
with  great  vigor,  accompanied  by  a  "hugh,"  and  the  ex- 
clamation of  "  Branagan  indeed  !  " 

"  Hadn't  I  better  take  off  the  sthraddle  ? "  said  Sol- 
omon. 

"Ay,  off  wid  it,"  said  the  smith. 

So  Solomon  took  off  the  highly  perfumed  straddle  that 
was  so  near  betraying  him,  and  then  filling  the  smith's 
pipe,  and  his  own  too,  with  some  of  the  tobacco  which  he 
had  sold  to  the  smith,  he  commenced  puffing  away  vigor, 
ously,  that  the  smell  of  the  lighted  weed  might  prevent 
the  perfume  of  the  dry  being  noticed. 

While  the  smith  was  engaged  in  shoeing  the  ass  inside 
the  forge,  Solomon  had  time  to  disengage  the  roll  of  stolen 
tobacco  from  the  heap  of  cinders  where  he  had  concealed 
it,  and  hiding  it  in  one  of  his  old  kettles,  he  was  quite  at 
ease,  and  blew  the  bellows  for  the  smith  while  he  heated 
the  iron,  or  looked  over  him  at  work  with  an  air  of  delight, 
saying,  as  the  smith  rasped  up  and  finished  his  work, 
"Well,  but  thim  is  the  rale  iligant  shoes  !  " 

"  You'll  never  talk  o'  Branagan  again,  will  you,  after 
fliat?"  said  the  smith. 

"Troth,  an'  I  won't,"  said  Solomon  ;  and  sure  it's  onl}' 
an  owld  fool  I  was,  up  to  this  present  time,  in  thinkin'  the 
like  ;  but  the  owldher  we  grow,  the  more  we  larn.  Sure 
it's  a  great  loss  to  me  I  didn't  know  you  sooner  !  " 

"Well,  it's  never  too  late  to  mind,"  said  the  smith. 

"  Thrue,  for  you,"  said  Solomon  ;  "nor  to  make,  aither." 
And  so  saying,  he  filled  his  pipe  again  from  the  smith's 
tobacco,  and  wishing  him  good-morning,  off  he  went,  hav- 
ing secured  his  plunder,  and  getting  a  new  set  of  shoes  on 
his  ass  ;  so  that  he  was  now  ready  for  a  long  prosperous 
round,  through  his  usual  beat. 

The  smith  idled  the  rest  of  that  day,  smoking  at  his  new 
stock  of  "  'bakky,"  drinking  to  quench  his  thirst,  and  fill- 
ing up  the  intervals  by  snapping  his  fingers  and  crying, 
''That  for  Branagan  !  " 


RORY   O'MORE.  117 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"In  the  Dark  all  Cats  are  Gray" — Rory  Becomes  Possessed  of  an  Im- 
portant Secret,  and  Discloses  one  in  Exchange. 

When  Rory  O'More  was  admitted  to  the  safe  side  of  the 
door,  he  felt  the  pressure  of  a  hand  upon  his  arm,  which 
he  interpreted  into  the  meaning  of  "  be  quiet ; "  and  as  it 
was  Rory's  own  opinion  that,  in  his  present  circumstances, 
it  was  the  best  thing  he  could  do,  he  acquiesced. 

One  thing,  however,  he  was  sure  of — that  it  was  a 
woman  who  admitted  him  to  the  house,  for  he  felt  the 
soft  breathing  of  one  of  the  gentle  sex  upon  his  cheek  as 
he  stood  motionless  by  the  door  beside  his  benefactress, 
while  they  heard  a  few  words  passing  between  the  colonel 
and  sentinel,  until  the  latter  descended  the  steps. 

Immediately  after,  Ror)"-  heard  the  woman  say  gently, 
'•  Come  down,  darlin'  !  "  and  holding  the  hand  that  was 
laid  upon  his  arm,  he  followed  his  conductress  as  softly 
as  he  could.  They  soon  began  to  descend  some  stairs, 
and  before  they  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  flight,  the 
sound  of  a  bolt  being  drawn  was  heard  up-stairs,  and 
Rory's  friend  said,  in  a  suppressed  voice  of  terror,  "Oh, 
inurdher !  there's  the  colonel  comin'  down  !  you  must 
hide  in  the  coal-hole.  Make  haste,  for  the  love  o'  God,  or 
I'm  a  ruined  woman  !  here,  here  ! "  and  slie  dragged  Rory 
along  while  she  spoke.  "  Get  in  there,  as  far  as  ever  you 
can.  and  hide  yourself,  or  I  dunna  what  will  become  of 
the  Dair  of  us  !  "  At  the  same  time,  she  opened  a  door 
and  pushed  Rory  inside  of  it. 

He  heard  her  footsteps  retreat  lightly  and  rapidly. 
"More  openings  of  doors!"  said  Rory  to  himself,  as  he 
scrambled  over  some  coal  and  slack,  holding  his  arms  ex- 
tended to  save  his  nose  from  fracture  ;  and  he  found  the 
coal-vault  extensive,  for  it  was  some  time  before  he  was 
stopped  by  a  wall.  As  soon  as  he  went  as  far  as  he  could 
go,  he  crouched  down,  keeping  his  face,  how^ever,  turned 
toward  the  point  whence  he  entered,  and  he  soon  heard  the 
descending  footsteps  of  the  person  he  was  taught  to  be- 
lieve was  the  colonel.  The  footsteps  seemed  to  ramble 
over  a  great  space  of  flagged  apartments,  and  various 
doors  squeaked  on  their  hinges  as  they  were  opened  and 
shut  in  succession  by  the   invisible  nerambulant.     At  last 


nS  ,  RORY  CHORE. 

Rory  saw  the  glimmer  of  a  light,  whicli  grew  stronger  by 
degrees,  until  the  door  of  the  cellar  opened,  and  then  he 
saw  a  Don  Quixote  sort  of  a  man,  with  a  candle  in  one 
hand  and  a  drawn  sword  in  the  other,  poke  his  head  in  at 
the  door  of  the  cellar,  and  holding  the  candle  a  yard 
before  him,  say,  "Is  there  any  one  here  ?" 

Rory  knew  better  than  to  make  any  answer  this  time, 
and  having  thrown  the  tail  of  his  coat  over  his  head,  leav- 
ing only  a  small  peep-hole  for  his  eyes,  he  remained  un- 
distinguishable  amidst  the  surrounding  gloom  ;  for  the 
vault  was  so  deep,  the  candle  so  dim,  the  colonel  so  short- 
sighted, and  Rory  crouched  so  low,  that  he  quite  defied 
observation.  Despite  his  dangerous  situation,  however, 
it  vvras  as  much  as  Rory  could  do  not  to  laugh  ;  for  the 
colonel,  with  his  long  face,  long  candle,  long  body,  long 
arms,  long  sword,  long  legs,  and  short  shirt,  cut  so  ridicu^ 
lous  a  figure,  that  a  man  of  more  solid  mood  than  Rory 
might  have  been  provoked  to  mirth.  However,  by  good 
luck,  Rory  did  not  laugh,  though  the  colonel,  a  la  Don 
Quixote,  continued  to  open  his  goggle  eyes  on  the  gloom 
before  him  ;  but  he  was  startled  from  his  fixed  observa- 
tion by  hearing  a  slip  amongst  the  coal,  which  drew  forth 
a  still  fiercer  demand  of  "  Who's  there  ?"  Upon  this  sum- 
mons, Rory  perceived,  between  him  and  the  light,  a  great 
cat  cautiously  crawl  to  the  summit  of  the  heap  of  coal, 
and,  with  a  tail  bristling  to  the  size  of  a  sweeping  brush, 
make  a  desperate  rush  down  the  acclivity  and  dart  be- 
tween the  colonel's  legs.  The  man  of  war  actually  jumped 
with  alarm  at  the  suddenness  of  the  surprise,  and,  as  if 
ashamed  of  being  so  frightened  at  such  a  cause,  muttered 

spitefully,  "  D n  the  cat  !  "     He  now  retired  from  the 

cellar,  and  went  to  wake  (as  he  thought)  the  woman-servant 
who  let  Rory  in,  and  whose  sleeping  apartment  was  in  the 
basement  story.  Rory  heard  him  cry,  "Betty!"  no 
answer.  "  Betty  !  "  again — still  silence  preserved.  "  Bet- 
ty !  "  still  louder  than  before — Rory  heard  a  snort  and  a 
growl  as  if  from  a  suddenly-awakened  person. 

"Who's  that  ?"  said  a  female  voice. 

"  Your  master :  have  you  heard  any  noise  in  the 
house  ?" 

"  Noise,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  noise — have  you  heard  any  ?" 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  have  been  in  bed,  sir,  and  asleep,  these 
three  hours.  I  hope  there's  nothing  the  matther,  sir  ? " 
said  Betty,  with  very  honest  seeming. 


RORY   O'MORE.  119 

"I  have  been  disturbed,"  said  the  colonel;  "and  I 
thought  robbers  had  got  in  the  house.  I  certainly  heard 
a  noise." 

"Oh,  I  dar'  say,  sir,"  said  Betty,  "'twas  nothing  but  the 
cat ;  he's  mighty  troublesome  and  lively,  that  cat  is — and 
I  forget  to  shut  him  up  sometimes — and  I'm  afraid  he  has 
been  disturbing  you,  sir.     Oh,  dear,  but  I'm  sorry  !  " 

This  was  a  good  guess  of  Betty's,  for  the  colonel  having 
seen  a  cat,  now  retired,  and  Rory  was  once  mare  left  in 
darkness.  And  now  that  the  immediate  chance  of  discov- 
ery was  removed,  he  began  to  conjecture  by  what  extra- 
ordinary means  he  was  let  inter  the  house  to  which  he  was 
an  utter  stranger,  at  the  moment  he  needed  it  most,  and 
by  a  woman  of  whom  he  knew  no  more  than  the  man  in 
the  moon  ;  her  name  was  Betty — and  that  he  only  knew 
from  hearing  the  colonel  address  her. 

After  the  lapse  of  half  an  hour,  Rory  heard  the  name  of 
"  Darby  "  whispered  at  the  door  of  the  cellar. 

In  equallv  gentle  tones,  he  barely  ventured  to  say,  rather 
huskily,  "  It's  I." 

*' Come  out,  darlin'  ;  take  care  you  don't  rowl  doww  any 
of  the  big  lumps  o'  coal." 

Rory,  profiting  by  the  caution,  got  out  with  as  little 
noise  as  possible  ;  and  coming  in  contact  with  his  female 
guide,  he  was  led  into  an  apartment,  the  door  of  which 
was  very  cautiously  locked  by  the  woman. 

"  Now  we  may  spake  more  at  our  aise,"  said  she. 
■"  How  are  you,  darlin'  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I'm  throubled  with  a  mighty  bad  cowld,"  said 
Rory,  who  thought  this  the  best  thing  he  could  say 
whereby  to  account  for  the  husky  tone  in  which  he  spoke, 
that  his  natural  voice  migiit  not  betray  the  mistake  which 
had  so  far  favored  him. 

"Oh,  but  your  voice  is  gone  intirely.  Darby,  darlin'," 
said  the  woman  ;  "  but  here's  somethin'  to  comfort  you, 
agra  ;  here  " — and  she  led  him  to  where  a  chair  and  table 
stood — "  here,  sit  down  and  ate  your  supper.  There's  an 
illigant  piece  o'  roast  beef,  and  a  jug  of  beautiful  beer  I 
kept  sly  for  you.      If  you  like,  I'll  light  a  candle  for  you." 

"Oh,  by  no  means!"  said  Rory.  "It's  better  not;  as 
the  house  was  alarmed,  the  light  might  be  bad" 

"  No,  it's  not  tliat  so  much,  but  I'm  afeared  o'  the  noise 
of  sthrikin'  the  flint." 

"  Don't  tlaink  of  it,  Betty,  dear,"  grumbled  Rory. 

"  Lord  !  how  your  voice  is  althered  !  " 


I20  RORY    0\MORE. 

"  Indeed,  I'm  chokin' with  the  cowld — hegh  !  hegh  !  Oh, 
murdhei"  !  " 

"Ate  a  bit,  and  it'll  do  you  good.  I'm  grieved  you 
haven't  a  light,  darlin'  ;  'twould  be  sitch  a  comfort  ti» 
you." 

"  I  don't  miss  it  in  the  laste,  Betty  ;  I  can  find  the  way 
to  my  mouth  in  the  dark." 

And  so  saying,  Rory  began  to  eat  his  supper,  which  was 
most  acceptable  to  him  for  two  reasons — first,  he  was 
hungry  ;  and  in  the  next  place,  the  occupation  accounted 
for  his  silence,  which  it  was  so  desirable  to  preserve. 

"  But,  you  villain  !  what  did  you  ring  the  thievin'  bell 
for  ? " 

"  'Twas  a  mistake,  darlin'- — hegh  !  hegh  !  hegh  !  Oh, 
this  cowld  is  chokin'  me  !" 

"  Don't  dishtress  yourself  talkin',  Darby  dear  ;  relievi 
yourself  with  the  mate  and  the  dhrink." 

Rory  obeyed. 

"  I  run  up  the  minit  I  heard  the  bell  ;  and  sure,  wasn't 
it  the  hoighth  o'  good  luck  that  I  got  you  in  before  the 
colonel  kem  down!  Oh  !  he'd  murdher  me,  I'm  sure,  if 
he  thought  how  it  was  !  But,  after  all,  Darby,  jewel,  wha': 
harm  is  there  in  an  honest  woman  havin'  her  husband  t') 
come  see  her  ? — sure  it's  nath'ral." 

''To  be  sure,  Betty  jewel,"  said  Rory,  who  now  pei'v 
ceived  that  he  was  mistaken  by  Betty  for  her  husband  ; 
and  Rory's  inventive  imagination  set  to  work  in  fancying 
what  a  dilemma  he  should  be  in,  in  case  the  real  husband 
might  arrive.  In  the  meantime,  however,  he  fortified  his 
patience  and  resolution  with  the  beef  and  beer,  which  diiJ! 
great  credit  to  the  colonel's  larder  and  cellar. 

"  But  you're  not  atin',  Darby,  dear,"  said  Betty. 

"No,  but  I'm  dlirinkin',"  said  Rory. 

"  Much  good  do  your  heart,  jewel !  But,  tell  me,  how 
is  Johnny  ?" 

Now,  who  the  deuce  Johnny  was,  Rory  could  not  tell ; 
but  supposing,  from  the  diminutive  form  of  the  name,  it 
might  be  her  child,  he  thought  it  best  to  please  her  with 
a  favorable  answer,  so  he  said,  "  Johnny's  very  well." 

"  Thank  God  !  "  said  Betty.  "  He's  a  fine  craythur  ; 
how  well  he  got  over  it !  " 

"  Illigant !  "  said  Rory,  who  wondered  what  it  was  Johnny 
got  over. 

"  And  how  is  the  hives  ?"  said  Betty. 

"  They're  all  where  they  wor,"   said  Rory,  who  did  noi: 


RORY  O'MORE.  12 1 

dream  of  any  other  hives.jhan  bee-hives  ;  while  Betty- 
meant  the  cutaneous  eruption  that  "  Johnny  "  was  suffering 
under. 

"And  has  none  o'  thim  disappeared  ?"  said  Betty. 

"  Oh  !  no  !  "  said  Rory  ;  "  we  take  great  care  o'  thim." 

"Do,  darlin',  do  ;  keep  'em  from  cowld." 

"  Oh,  yis  ;  we  put  sthraw  over  them,"  said  Rory. 

"  Sthraw  !  "  said  Betty  ;  "  why,  thin,  is  it  takin'  lave  of 
your  sinses  you  are.  Darby.     Is  it  sthraw  on  the  hives  ? " 

"  Sartinly  ;  sure  the  bees  likes  it." 

"  Bees  !  "  said  Betty  ;  "  arrah,  what  bees  ?" 

"Why,  the  bees  in  the  hives,"  said  Rory. 

"Arrah,  man,  don't  be  goin'  on  with  your  humbuggin' ! 
you  know  I'm  axin'  about  the  child  very  well,  and  you 
must  go  on  with  your  tricks  about  bee-hives.  I  hate  hum- 
buggin', so  I  do.  Darby — and  you  know  I  do  ;  and  you 
will  be  goin'  on,  all  I  can  say." 

Rory  saw  there  was  some  mistake  ;  and  to  stop  Betty, 
he  said,  "  Whisht,  whisht !  " 

"What  is  it?"  said  Betty. 

"  Don't  talk  so  much,  or  may  be  they'll  hear  uz." 

Betty  was  silent  for  some  time  ;  but  as  perfect  stillness 
seemed  to  reign  in  the  house,  she  returned  to  the  charge 
on  the  hives. 

"  But  tell  me,  is  the  hives  all  out  ? " 

"  Av  coorse,"  said  Rory. 

"  And  do  they  look  well  ? " 

"Mighty  purty,  indeed  "  said  Rory  ;  "and  there'll  be  a 
power  o'  honey  in  them,  I'm  sure." 

Betty  now  gave  him  a  box  on  the  ear,  saying,  "  Devil 
sweep  you  !  you  will  be  humbuggin',  so  you  will.  You 
cruel  brute  !  can't  you  make  fun  of  anything  but  the  poor 
child  that  is  lyin'  undher  the  hives?" 

"  Sure,  I  tell  you,  the  child  is  well  and  hearty  :  and  isn't 
that  enough  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"And  it's  only  jokin'  you  wor  ?"  said  Betty. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Rory  ;  "  you  ought  to  know  my 
ways  by  this  time.     This  is  mighty  fine  beef." 

"  But,  'deed  an  'deed,  is  Johnny " 

"  Bad  luck  to  the  word  more  I'll  say  ! "  said  Rory,  affect- 
ing an  angry  silence. 

Betty  now  changed  her  ground,  and  thought  a  bit  of 
scandal  confided  to  Darby,  would  amuse  him  ;  so  she  be- 
gan to  tell  him  that  suppose  the  colonel  should  find  out 
she  brought  her  husband  into  the  house,  he  had  no  right 


122  RORY  O'MORE. 

Ui  complain,  for  at  all  events  it  7cias  her  own  husband,  and 
nobody  else. 

Rory  chuckled  at  her  confidence. 

"  Not  all  as  one,"  said  Betty,  "  as  him — with  another 
man's  wife  !     Purty  goin's  on." 

"  Do  you  tell  me  so,"  said  Rory. 

*'  I  found  it  all  out,  so  he'd  betther  say  nothin'  to  me, 
or  I  could  desthroy  him.  Not  that  she's  a  bit  worse  than 
ever  she  was  ;  but  if  the  collecthor  knew  it " 

Rory  cocked  his  ears.     "  Is  it  Scrubbs  you  mane  ? " 

"  Who  else  ?  "  said  Betty. 

"And  his  wife  ?"  said  Rory. 

*'  Is  come  over  on  a  visit,  by  the  ivay — but  I  know  what  I 
know." 

"  How  long  ago  ?  "  said  Roiy. 

"  Since  you  were  here  last,"  said  Betty. 

"  That's  a  long  time,"  thought  Rory  to  himself. 

"  Scrubbs  went  to  town  last  week,  and  over  comes 
madam — on  a  visit.  Avcoorse  she'll  go  back  when  she  ex- 
pects her  nate  man  home.  But  it  sarves  him  right — what 
could  he  expect  when  he  tuk  up  with  the  likes  of  her,  the 
dirty  cur  !  " 

Betty  went  on  for  some  time  in  this  strain,  venting  the 
vials  of  her  wrath  on  the  colonel  and  Mrs.  Scrubbs  ;  and 
Rory  did  not  interrupt  her,  for  he  was  glad  the  more  she 
talked,  and  it  relieved  him  from  the  difficulty  of  remaining 
concealed  under  her  questions.  After  exhausting  her 
news  and  her  abuse,  slie  began  to  ask  Rory  more  questions  ; 
to  all  of  which  he  replied  by  the  exclamation  of  "  Whisht," 
protesting  at  the  same  time  he  was  afraid  to  speak  for  fear 
of  discovery  by  the  colonel.  At  last  when  Betty  found  he 
had  cleared  the  dish  and  emptied  the  jug,  she  said  : 

"  You  had  better  come  to  bed  now,  darlin'." 

This  was  a  poser,  and  Rory  said  "  Whisiit  "  again. 

"Come  to  bed,  jewel — you'll  be  more comfortabler there 
than  sittin'  here  in  the  cowld,  and  we  can  talk  without  any 
fear  o'  bein'  heerd,  with  our  heads  undher  tlie  blankets." 

"  I  can't  bear  my  head  undher  the  blankets,"  said  Rory. 

"  That's  newly  come  to  you,  thin,"  said  Betty. 

"  That  is  since  this  cowld,"  said  Rory,  recovering  him- 
self ;  "it  chokes  me,  this  cowld  does." 

"  There's  not  a  finer  thing  in  the  world  for  a  cowld  than 
to  go  to  bed,"  said  Betty. 

"  But  the  cowld  rises  in  my  throat  to  that  degree  when 
1  lie  down,"  said  Rory,  "  that  it  smothers  me." 


RORV   O'MORE.  123 

"  May  be  'twould  be  better  to-night,  darlin',''  said  Betty. 

"  I'd  ratiier  sit  up,"  said  Rory. 

"You'll  be  lost  with  the  cowld,"  said  Betty,  "  and  no  fii«e 
in  the  grate." 

Rory  found  Betty  was  determined  to  have  matters  her 
own  way,  and  began  to  get  puzzled  how  he  should  avoid 
this  difficulty,  and  the  only  chance  of  escape  he  saw  open 
to  him,  was  to  request  the  tender  and  confiding  Betty  to 
prepare  herself  for  a  "grate  saycret  "  he  had  to  tell  her, 
and  that  she  would  promise,  when  he  informed  her  of  it, 
not  to  be  too  much  surprised.  Betty  protested  to  preserve 
the  most  philosophic  composure. 

"  You  won't  screech  ? "  said  Rory. 

"  What  would  I  screech  for  ? "  said  Betty. 

"  It's  mighty  surprisin',"  said  Rory. 

"  Arrah,  don't  keep  me  waitin  ',  but  let  me  have  it  at 
wanst,"  said  Betty,  eagerly. 

"Now,  darlin,'  take  it  aisy,"  said  Rory,  "  for  you  must 
know " 

"  What  ?  "  cried  Betty. 

"I'm  not  Darby,"  said  Rory. 

Betty  scarcely  suppressed  a  scream. 

"  You  villain  !  "  said  she. 

"  I'm  not  a  villain,  aither,"  said  Rory. 

"What  brought  you  here  at  all  ? " 

"Yourself,"  said  Rory  ;  "sure  wasn't  it  yourself  pulled 
me  inside  the  hall-door  ?  " 

"  But,  sure,  I  thought  it  was  Darby  was  in  it." 

"  Well,  and  haven't  I  been  honest  enough  to  tell  you  I'm 
not  Darby,  at  last,  when  it  might  have  been  throublesome 
to  your  conscience,  Betty  ?" 

"Ay,"  said  the  woman,  "  there's  more  o'  your  roguery  ! 
Betty,  too  !  How  did  you  make  out  my  name,  you  divil's 
limb?" 

"  A  way  o'  my  own,  Betty." 

"  Oh,  a  purty  rogue  you  are,  I  go  bail — throth  it's  not 
the  first  house  you  got  into,  I  dare  say,  nor  the  first  poor 
woman  you  enthrapped,  you  midnight  desaiver — and  takin' 
up  my  name,  too." 

"  Well,  I  haven't  taken  away  your  name,  anyhow  ;  so 
don't  be  so  fractious." 

"Arrah,  but  how  do  I  know  but  you  will  ?" 

"  Well,  it's  time  enough  to  cry  when  you're  hurt,  Betty 
— keep  yourself  cool,  now — there's  no  harm  done." 

"  No  harm,  indeed  !     Curse  your  impidince  1     No  harm ; 


124  RORY  O'MORE. 

Why,  how  do  I  know  but  it's  a  robber  you  are,  may  be  . 
Faith,  I  b'lieve  I'd  best  rise  the  house  and  own  this  thing 
to  the  colonel." 

"  Betty,  dear,"  said  Rory,  very  quietly,  "  have  a  little 
wit  in  your  anger,  agra .'  think  o'  your  characther, 
Betty." 

"  Oh,  my  characther,  my  characther — sure  enough,  it's 
ruined  forever !  Oh,  what'U  I  do  !  "  And  she  was  going 
to  cry  and  make  a  fool  of  herself,  when  Rory  reminded  her 
that  crying  would  do  no  good. 

"The  curse  o'  Crum'll  an  you  !  what  brought  you  nigh 
the  place  at  all,  and  who  are  you  ?" 

"  No  matther  who  I  am,  but  I  tell  you  what  is  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  :  jist  let  me  stay  quietly  in  the  house 
until  the  dawn,  and  thin  let  me  out  onknownst." 

"  Oh,  I  dar'nt,  I  dar'nt,"  said  Betty.  "  Sure  if  you  were 
seen  quittin'  the  place,  'twould  be  the  ruin  o'  me  ! " 

'*  By  dad  !  I  niust  quit  it  some  way  or  other,"  said  Rory  : 
"and  sure  if  you  let  me  out  now  itself,  may  be  the  colonel 
will  hear  the  door  opening  ;  or  even  if  he  doesn't,  sure  the 
sojers  is  now  on  the  watch,  and  would  catch  me." 

"■  Oh,  you  mustn't  go  out  by  the  front,"  said  Betty  ;  "  I'll 
let  you  out  into  the  garden  at  the  back,  and  you  must  get 
over  the  wall,  for  here  you  mustn't  stay — that's  tee-totally 
out  o'  the  question." 

"Well,  anything  for  a  quiet  life,"  said  Rory;  "do  what 
you  plaze  with  me  ;  but  I  think  as  I  am  here,  you  might 
as  well  let  me  sit  up  here  till  toward  mornin'." 

"No,  no,  no  !"  said  Betty,  in  great  tribulation.  "Who 
knows  but  Darby  might  come  !  and  then  what  in  the  wide 
world  would  I  do  !  " 

"You  should  keep  him  out,"  said  Rory. 

"  Out,  indeed  !  "  said  Betty — "  keep  Darby  out !  Sure, 
he'd  suspec'  somethin'  wasn't  right,  for  he's  as  jealous  as  a 
turkey-cock,  and  he'd  murdher  me  if  he  thought  how  it 
was.     Oh,  what  brought  you  here  at  all ! " 

At  this  moment,  some  pebbles  were  thrown  against  the 
area  window. 

"  Oh,  by  this  and  that,"  said  Betty,  "  there  he  is — oh. 
what'll  become  o'  me  ! " 

"  Tut !  woman  alive,"  said  Rory,  who  endeavored  to 
make  her  attend,  for  she  became  almost  confounded  by 
the  difficulty  of  her  situation,  and  was  clapping  her  hands 
and  uttering  a  volley  of  Oh's — "  Tut  !  woman,  don't  be 
clappin'  your  hands  like  a  washwoman  and  makin'  an  up- 


RORY  O'lMORE.  izj 

roar,  but  jist  let  me  out  smart  into  the  gnrdcn,  and  I'll  get 
over  the  wall  as  you  towld  me." 

Betty  seemed  aroused  to  action  by  Rory's  suggestion, 
and  now  led  him  to  a  back  window,  which  she  opened 
carefully  ;  and  telling  Rory  to  get  out  softly,  she  handed 
him  a  chair,  and  then  followed  herself.  She  conducted 
him  then  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  and  placing  the  chair 
close  to  the  wall,  she  held  it  firmly,  while  Rory  got  upon 
the  back  rail,  which  enabled  him  to  lay  his  hands  on  the 
top  of  the  brickwork,  and  he  soon  scrambled  up  and 
dropped  himself  on  the  outside.  On  his  landing,  he  ran 
as  fast  and  lightly  as  he  could  from  the  quarter  where  the 
sentinels  were  placed,  and  so  far  escaped  unobserved,  and 
continued  in  a  straight  line  up  a  narrow  street  that  opened 
from  one  of  the  corners  of  the  green.  Here  he  paused 
awhile  before  deciding  which  way  he  should  proceed  ;  for 
in  the  hurry  of  leaving  the  house,  he  never  thought  of 
asking  Betty  which  was  the  way  to  go.  Rory  took  th& 
first  turn  out  of  this  street  that  chance  suggested,  and  was 
getting  on  famously,  as  he  thought  ;  but  while  in  the  very 
act  of  congratulating  himself  on  his  wonderful  deliverance 
from  the  soldiers,  he  turned  another  corner,  and  was 
scarcely  round  it,  when  a  startling  "Who's  there?"  waa 
uttered  a  few  paces  ahead  of  him,  and  the  rattling  of  s 
firelock  accompanied  the  challenge. 

Rory  saw  the  game  was  up,  and  that  after  all  his  former 
luck  it  was  his  fate  to  become  a  prisoner  ;  so  he  ap'» 
proached  the  point  whence  he  w^as  challenged,  and  said, 
"A  friend." 

"Advance  and  give  the  countersign,"  said  the  sentinel, 
emerging  from  a  sentry-box. 

*'  I  haven't  sitch  a  thing  about  me,  sir,"  said  Rory. 


c«0  MO/iV   O'^MORE. 


VOLUME    THE   SECOND. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


In  which  Rory  Remembers  the  Old  Saying  of  "  Put  That  in  Your  Pipe 

and  Smoke  it." 

When  Rory  could  not  give  the  countersign  nor  produce 
a  pass,  the  sentinel  told  him  he  was  his  prisoner,  and  must 
remain  in  his  custody  until  the  guard  should  be  relieved; 
to  which  Rory  made  not  the  least  objection. 

To  all  the  soldier's  questions  as  to  where  he  had  been 
and  what  brought  him  out  at  that  hour  of  the  night,  Rory 
gave  ready  but  evasive  answers,  until,  the  first  moment  of 
surprise  being  past,  he  had  time  to  invent  such  replies  as 
would  least  embarrass  him  in  any  subsequent  examination 
he  might  undergo  ;  and  was  so  far  successful  that  the 
soldier  believed  him  to  be  a  peasant  who  was  abroad  at 
that  hour  through  ignorance. 

Rory  now  thought  of  General  Hoche's  letter,  and  began 
to  feel  uneasy  at  the  possession  of  such  a  document.  Under 
the  surveillance  of  the  sentinel  he  could  not  well  manage  to 
tear  it ;  and  even  if  he  had,  it  being  found  near  the  spot 
would  prove  a  suspicious  circumstance  against  him.  In 
this  dilemma,  an  ingenious  thought  occurred  to  him. 
Stooping,  as  it  were,  to  rub  his  leg,  he  soiled  his  fingers 
with  the  mud  upon  his  shoes,  and  then  introducing  his 
hand  into  the  pocket  which  held  the  letter,  he  dabbled  it 
with  the  dirt  so  as  to  take  off  its  look  of  freshness,  and 
doubled  it  together  in  narrow  folds,  so  as  to  resemble 
those  billets  of  paper  which  the  Irish  peasantry  so  com- 
monly stick  in  their  hats  for  the  purpose  of  lighting  their 
pipes.  This,  the  thin  texture  of  the  foreign  paper  enabled 
him  the  better  to  do  ;  and  Rory  then  stuck  the  dangerous 
document  into  his  hat-band,  where  he  trusted  to  its  re- 
maining without  exciting  suspicion. 

In  about  half  an  hour  the  guard  was  relieved,  and  Rory 
was  handed  over  to  the  patrol,  who  marched  him  into  the 
guard-house  of  the  barrack,  ud  to  whose  very  wall  it  was 


RORY  O'MORE.  127 

/lis  ill  luck   to   have    directed    his    steps    on   leaving   tlie 
colonel's  house. 

Rory  entered  the  place  of  durance  with  the  greatest 
composure,  and  began  talking  to  the  soldiers  with  the 
most  admirable  nonchoJance. 

"Faix,  I'm  glad  I  had  the  luck  to  fall  in  with  you!" 
said  he,  "  for  I  didn't  know  where  in  the  world  to  go  ;  and 
here  I  am  undher  a  good  roof,  with  a  fine  fire  in  the 
place." 

The  soldiers  did  not  attend  to  him  much,  but  crowded 
round  the  fire,  while  the  sergeant  went  to  make  his  report 
to  the  officer  of  the  guard  that  a  prisoner  had  been 
brought  in. 

This  officer  happened  to  be  a  very  raw  ensign,  who  hav- 
ing lately  joined,  and  being  moreover  by  nature  a  con- 
sequential coxcomb,  was  fond  of  giving  himself  all  the 
airs  in  which  a  position  of  authority  could  permit  him  to 
indulge,  much  to  his  own  personal  delight  and  the  good  of 
his  majesty's  service. 

When  the  sergeant  had  announced  his  own  presence  be- 
fore his  superior  officer  by  the  respectful  enunciation  of 
"  Plase  your  honor,"  he  stood  as  upright  as  his  own  hal- 
berd— he  had  just  about  as  much  brains — with  his  arms 
and  hands  stuck  straight  and  close  to  his  side,  until  the 
ensign  thought  fit  to  lift  his  gooseberry  eyes  from  the 
novel  he  was  reading.  When  he  vouchsafed  to  look  at 
the  sergeant,  he  said,  "  What's  your  business  ?  " 

"  The  pattherowl,  your  honor,  has  tuk  a  presner." 

"Where  did  they  make  the  arrest  ?  " 

"  The  rest,  your  honor  ?  there's  no  more  o'  them,  your 
honor." 

"  I  say,  where  did  they  capture  him  ?" 

"Oh  !  they  did  nothing  to  him,  your  honor,  until  they 
have  your  honor's  ordhers." 

"  Confound  you  !     I  say,  where  did  they  take  him  ? " 

"  They  have  tuk  him  into  the  guard-house,  your  honor." 

"  You  horrid  individual !     I  mean,  where  was  he  found  ?" 

"  In  the  sthreet,  your  honor." 

"  You  beast !     What  street  ?  " 

"  Butthermilk  Sthreet,  your  honor." 

"  Near  the  barrack  ?  " 

'' Yis,  your  honor." 

"  Has  he  any  accomplices  ?  " 

"  We  have  not  searched  him  yet,  your  honor  " 

•='  Confound  you  !     I  mean,  was  he  in  company  ? ''" 


:28  RORY  O'MORE. 

"  Yis,  your  honor  ;  he  says  he  was  in  company,  but  they 
turned  him  out,  your  honor." 

"  Then  he  was  alone  ?  "  - 

"  Yis,  your  honor." 

"  Have  you  searched  him  ?  " 

"  No,  your  honor." 

"  Demneetion,  sir  !  You  should  always  search  a  pris- 
oner the  first  thing — you  don't  know  but  a  prisoner  ma^t 
have  concealed  arms  or  treasonable  papers  on  his  person. 
Search  him  directly." 

"Yis,  your  honor,"  said  the  sergeant,  raising  his  arm 
like  the  handle  of  a  pump,  and  when  he  had  it  at  full 
length,  doubling  it  up  from  his  elbow  till  his  hand,  as  flat 
as  a  fish-knife,  touched  his  head  ;  then  deliberately  revers- 
ing all  these  motions  until  his  arm  was  back  again  at  his 
side,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  was  leaving  the  room,  when 
the  ensign,  calling  him  back  again,  said  with  an  air  of 
great  authority : 

"  I  expect  never  to  hear  of  such  a  gross  breach  of  disci- 
pline and  neglect  of  duty  again  ;  never  report  a  prisoner 
in  my  presence  without  being  able  to  answer  all  such  iiri- 
poitant  questions  as  I  have  been  asking  you  ;  and  for  this 
purpose  let  your  first  duty  be  always  to  search  him  directly. 
Go  now,  and  report  to  me  again  when  the  person  of  this 
prisoner  has  undergone  rigid  inspection.     Retire  !  " 

"  Yis,  your  honor,"  said  the  sergeant,  repeating  his  salute 
with  his  usual  solemnity,  and  stalking  from  the  room  into 
the  guard-house. 

Now,  the  room  where  the  officer  sat  was  a  small  apart- 
ment partitioned  off  the  guard-house  ;  and  Rory,  whose 
ears  were  open,  heard  every  word  of  the  officer's  magnilo- 
quence and  the  sergeant's  stupidity  ;  and  so  soon  as  he 
heard  the  order  about  searching,  and  the  words  "  treason- 
able papers,"  he  thought  that  to  let  the  letter  remain  in 
existence  would  be  only  running  an  unnecessary  risk  ;  so 
he  very  deliberately  approached  the  fire,  and  having  taken 
Hoche's  letter  from  his  iiatband,  he  spoke  to  some  soldiers 
who  were  sitting  round  the  hearth  all  unmindful  of  what 
was  going  forward  between  the  officer  and  the  sergeant, 
and,  handing  them  the  letter  twisted  up  in  the  form  of  a 
match  for  lighting  a  pipe,  he  said  : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  being  so  troublesome,  gintlemen, 
but  would  you  oblige  me  to  light  this  taste  of  paper  for 
me  to  kindle  my  pipe  ?  for  indeed  it's  mighty  cowld,  and 
I'm  lost  with  the  wet- 


liORY   O'MORE.  129 

One  of  the  soldiers  did  as  he  required  ;  for  the  request 
was  so  natural,  and  Rory's  manner  so  cool,  that  no  suspic- 
ion was  awakened  of  the  importance  of  the  document  on 
whose  destruction  Rory's  life  or  death  depended,  and  the 
lighted  paper  was  handed  to  him  over  the  shoulders  of 
the  party  that  inclosed  the  fire,  and  ,Rory  lighted  his  pipe 
with  a  self-possession  that  would  have  done  honor  to  an 
American  Indian.  From  the  wetting  which  the  letter  had 
sustained  while  exposed  in  Rory's  hat,  it  burned  slowly  ; 
so,  when  he  heard  the  sergeant  coming  from  the  officer's 
room,  and  his  feigned  match  not  yet  consumed,  he  leaned 
over  the  back  of  the  soldier  who  had  obliged  him,  and  say- 
ing, "  Thank  you  kindly,  sir,"  threw  the  remainder  of  the 
paper  into  the  fire,  just  as  the  sergeant  returned  to  execute 
the  ensign's  order. 

The  search  instituted  upon  Rory's  person  produced  no 
evidence  against  him.  When  it  was  over  he  sat  down  and 
smoked  his  pipe  very  contentedly.  In  a  few  minutes  an- 
other prisoner  made  his  appearance,  when  a  second  party, 
who  had  been  relieving  guard,  came  in.  This  man  was 
making  loud  protestations  that  he  was  not  the  person  the 
soldiers  took  him  for  ;  but  his  declarations  seemed  to  have 
no  effect  on  the  guard. 

"  I  wonder  you  were  not  afraid  to  come  to  the  place 
.igain  after  having  escaped  once  before,"  said  one  of  the 
♦entinels  who  brought  him  in. 

*'  I  tell  you  again,  I  never  was  there  before,"  said  the 
man. 

"  Bother  !  "  said  the  sentinel  ;  "  you  won't  do  an  old  sol- 
dier that  way." 

"  By  this  and  by  that,"  said  the  prisoner. 

"  Whish,  whish  !  "  said  the  soldier  ;  "sure  we  were  look- 
ing for  you  before  ;  however,  you  contrived  to  give  us  the 
dip." 

"  I  gave  you  no  slip,"  said  the  prisoner  ;  "  I  tell  you 
again,  'twas  the  first  time  I  was  there." 

"  Fudge  !  "  said  the  soldier  ;  "  how  did  the  bell  ring  ?  " 

"  Divil  a  bell  I  rung,"  said  the  man. 

Rory  understood  in  an  instant  how  this  mystification 
took  place  ;  he  suspected  at  once  this  must  be  Darby,  who 
had  thrown  the  pebbles  that  startled  Betty  so  much  ;  and, 
while  he  laughed  in  his  sleeve  at  the  poor  husband  being 
mistaken  for  the  person  who  had  disturbed  the  colonel's 
house,  he  continued  to  smoke  his  pipe  with  apparent  in- 
difference to  all  that  was  going  forward,  and  did   not  a5 


130  RORY  O'MORE. 

much  as  look  up  at  the  prisoner.  It  was  absurd  and  whirriv 
sical  enough,  certainly,  that  Betty  should  first  have  mistaken 
him  for  Darby,  and  then  that  Darby  should  be  mistaken  for 
him  by  the  soldiers.  Darby  still  continued  to  protest  his  in- 
nocence of  any  previous  approach  to  the  house  ;  but  the  sol- 
diers could  not  be  persuaded  out  of  their  senses,  as  they 
themselves  said  ;  and  so  the  affair  concluded  by  Darby 
being  desired  to  sit  down  beside  his  fellow-prisoner. 

Rory  now  looked  at  him,  to  see  what  sort  of  a  bargain 
Betty  had  made  in  a  husband,  and  to  his  surprise,  he  be- 
held one  of  the  men  he  had  seen  in  the  cellar.  A  momen- 
tary look  of  recognition  passed  between  them,  and  then 
they  withdrew  their  eyes,  lest  the  bystanders  should  notice 
their  intelligence. 

"Where  will  the  adventures  of  this  night  end  ?"  thought 
Rory  to  himself. 

But  all  adventures  must  have  an  end  at  last,  and  this 
chapter  of  Rory's  accidents  came  to  a  close  next  morning ; 
in  the  meantime,  however,  Rory  stretched  himself  on  the 
guard-bed,  when  he  had  finished  his  pipe,  and  slept 
soundly.  It  may  be  wondered  at  that  he  could  sleep  un- 
der such  exciting  circumstances,  and  still  in  a  perilous 
situation  ;  but  when  we  remember  all  the  fatigues  he  had 
gone  through  the  preceding  day,  it  does  not  seem  extra- 
ordinary that  sleep  should  have  favored  one  like  Rory, 
who  was  always  full  of  hope,  and  did  not  know  what  fear 
meant. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


In  which  it  Appears  that  One  Man's  Sin  may  prove  Another  Man's  Sal- 
vation. 

In  the  morning  he  was  awoke  by  a  prodigious  drumming ; 
and  various  other  drummings,  and  fifings,  and  trumpet- 
ings,  etc.,  went  forward,  with  paradings  and  such  military 
formula  ;  these  being  finished,  Rory  and  Darby  were  con- 
ducted from  the  guard-house,  and  led  into  the  presence 
of  the  colonel,  whom  Rory  recognized  for  his  coal-hole 
acquaintance  of  the  preceding  night. 

Rory,  on  being  questioned  as  to  what  brought  him  into 
the  streets  at  such  an  hour,  said  that  he  was  a  stranger  in 
the  town  ;  that  it  being  market-day,  he  went  with  a  few 
"boys"  to  have  some  drink,  and  that  he  became  drowsy 


RORY  O'MORE.  13I 

and  fell  asleep  in  a  public-house  ;  that  subsequently  he 
was  awoke,  and  that  he  then  saw  other  people  in  the 
room  ;  that  a  quarrel  arose  ;  that  they  did  not  seem  to  like 
his  company,  and  "at  last,"  said  Rory,  "they  gave  me  a 
hint  to  go." 

"  What  hint  did  they  give  you  ?"  said  the  colonel. 

"They  kicked  me  downstairs,  your  honor,"  said  Rory. 

A  laugh  followed  Rorv's  exposition  of  what  a  hint  was. 

"  That's  rather  a  strong  hint,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  I  thought  so  myself,  your  honor,"  said  Rory  ;  "  and  so 
when  they  kicked  me  downstairs,  I  suspected  it  was  time 
to  go." 

"  But,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  colonel,  noticing  Rory's 
fine  proportions  and  bold  eye,  though  Rory  endeavored  to 
look  as  innocent  as  he  could,  "  I  don't  think  you  seem  like 
a  fellow  that  would  take  such  a  hint  quietly." 

"  Why,  your  honor,  I'm  behowlden  to  you  for  your  good 
opinion,  and  indeed  it's  thrue,  I'm  proud  to  say  ;  but  what 
could  I  do  agin  a  dozen  ?  I  offered  to  bate  them  all  round 
singly,  but  they  would  not  listen  to  rayson,  and  so  they 
shoved  me  outside  the  door  ;  and  there  I  was  in  the 
sthreet,  knowin'  no  more  than  the  child  unborn  where  to 
turn,  or  where  to  go  look  for  a  bed." 

"  I'll  have  the  keeper  of  that  public-house  punished  for 
having  it  open  at  such  an  hour.     Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed  and  I  don't  know,"  said  Rory. 

The  colonel  looked  incredulous.  He  questioned  Rory 
more  closely,  who  fenced  veiy  ingeniously  ;  but  still  the 
suspicions  of  the  colonel  were  excited,  and  he  said  at 
last : 

"  Your  account  of  yourself,  my  good  fellow,  is  rather 
confused." 

"  No  wondher,  your  honor,  when  I  was  dhrunk  all  the 
time." 

"That  won't  do,"  said  the  colonel,  who  continued,  in  a 
severer  tone.  *'  I  suspect  you're  a  deep  fellow,  sir,  and 
know  more  than  you  choose  to  tell,  and  therefore  I'll 
hand  you  over  to  the  sergeant.  Here,  sergeant."  That 
functionary  advanced.  "  Sergeant,"  said  the  colonel, 
"take  this  fellow  to  the  halberds.  Let  the  drummers  give 
him  a  dozen,  and  see  if  that  will  refresh  his  memory." 

Rory's  heart  almost  burst  with  indignation  at  the  thought 
of  the  degradation,  and  he  became  first  red  as  crimson 
and  then  pale  as  death  with  rage. 

"  Ha  ! "  said  the  colonel,  seeming  to  enjoy  the  pallor  his 


132  RORY  O'MORE. 

threat  had  produced,  and  which  he  mistook  for  fear, 
"'we'll  see,  my  fine  fellow,  what  you  think  of  the  hints  the 
drummers  will  give  you." 

In  an  instant  Rory's  invention  came  to  his  aid  ;  and 
tlx)ugh,  could  he  have  indulged  his  desire,  he  would  have 
had  the  colonel  placed  before  him  on  equal  terms,  and 
could  have  plucked  out  his  tyrannous  heart  for  the  degra- 
dation he  would  inflict  on  him,  still  he  kept  down  his  ris- 
ing wrath,  and  let  finesse  accomplish  what  he  knew  force 
could  never  achieve  ;  so,  with  as  much  calmness  as  he 
could  muster,  he  said  : 

"  I'd  be  sorry,  sir,  to  put  the  sargeant  to  so  much 
throuble  ;  and,  if  you'll  be  good  enough  to  clear  the  room, 
I'll  tell  you  something  you'd  like  to  know,  sir." 

"  You  may  tell  it  out  before  all,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Plaze  your  honor,"  said  Rory,  who  now  had  recovered 
his  self-command,  and  enjoyed  the  thought  of  foiling 
cruelty  by  craft — "  your  honor,  it's  something  you  wouldn't 
he  plazed  Qxtry  one  should  hear." 

"  How  shouldn't  I  be  pleased  ?  There's  nothing  you 
can  tell,  fellow,  that  I  should  care  if  the  whole  world 
knew\" 

"Avcoorse  not,  your  honor,"  said  Roiy,  with  affected 
leverence  ;  "but  at  the  same  time,  if  you  b'lieve  me,  sir, 
it  will  be  betther  for  no  one  hnt  yourself  to  know  of  it." 

"  Clear  the  room,  then,"  said  he  to  the  sergeant.  "  You 
may  remain,  Mr.  Daw."  This  was  said  to  the  ensign  who 
was  officer  of  the  guard. 

"  No  one  but  yourself,  if  you  plaze,  your  honor,"  said 
Rory. 

The  colonel  at  first  imagined  that  this  was  some  desper- 
ate fellow  who  had  concealed  arms  about  him,  and  meant 
to  take  his  life  ;  but  remembering  he  had  been  searched  in 
the  guard-house,  his  personal  security  no  longer  was 
matter  of  question,  and  there  was  a  certain  meaning  that 
Rory  threw  into  his  manner,  which  influenced  him  to 
grant  the  prisoner's  request  to  be  alone  with  him. 

"Well,  what's  this  wonderful  secret  you've  to  tell  ?  "  said 
the  colonel,  when  they  were  alone. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Rory,  affecting  great  embarrassment, 
2tnd  rubbing  his  hand  up  and  down  the  table  before  which 
he  stood,  as  if  he  were  ashamed  of  what  he  had  to  com- 
municate. "  I'm  loath  to  tell  you  a'most,  sir,  begging  your 
honor's  pardon  ;  but " 

"  Quick,  sir,  quick  !  "  said  the  colonel,  impatiently. 


RORY   O'MORE,  133 

"It's  all  thrue  what  I  towld  you,  sir,  about  bein'  n 
stranger  in  the  town,  and  coming  over  jist  to " 

"  The  fact,  sirrah  !  "  said  the  colonel — "  the  fact — tell  nie 
what's  this  secret  of  yours." 

"Yis,  your  honor,  that's  what  I  want  to  insense  your 
honor  about." 

"You'd  insence  anyone  with  your  delay,  fellow.  Come 
to  the  fact,  I  tell  you — what's  this  secret  ?  " 

Rory  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  colonel  while  he   proceeded  : 

"  You  see,  sir — I  beg  your  honor's  pardon,  and  hope  you 
won't  be  offended  with  me — but  in  the  regard  of  Misther 
,"  and  lie  lowered  his  voice  to  a  mysterious  pitch. 

"  Who  ? "  said  the  colonel,  on  whora  Rory  had  his  eyes 
fixed  like  a  hawk. 

"  Misther  Scrubbs,  sir,"  said  Rory. 

The  colonel  winced  ;  Rory  saw  he  had 

"  Tented  him  to  the  quick  ;  " 

and  now  felt  that  the  game  was  in  his  hands. 

"  What  of  him  ? "  said  the  colonel,  recovering  himself,  but 
yet  with  a  very  altered  tone  of  voice  to  that  in  which  he 
had  hitherto  pursued  his  interrogatories. 

"Why,  sir,  your  honor — you'll  excuse  me,  I  hope,  V 
wouldn't  offind  your  honor  for  the  world — but  I  thought  it 
best  not  to  mention  anything  about  it  while  the  people 
was  here,  becaze  people  is  curious  sometimes  and  might 
be  makin'  their  remarks,  and  I  thought  I  could  betther 
give  your  honor  a  hint  when  nobody  would  be  the  wiser 
of  it." 

"  I'm  not  any  wiser  myself  of  it  yet,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  No,  of  coorse,  your  honor,  seein'  I  was  loath  to  men- 
tion the  thing  a'most,  for  fear  of  your  honor  thinkin'  I  was 
takin'  a  liberty  ;  but  the  misthiss — Missis  Scrubbs,  I  mane, 

your  honor "  and   Rory  here   stuck  his  eyes  into  the 

colonel  again. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  colonel. 

"  I  knew  she  was  over  here  with  a  friend,  your  honor, 
and  I  knew  that  she  did  not  expec'  the  master  down — the 
collecthor,  I  mane." 

"Well?"  said  the  colonel. 

"  And  I  thought  it  best  to  tell  her  that  I  heerd  the  mas- 
ther  is  comin'  down  to-morrow,  and  av  cooxsq your  honor 
knows  he  would  not  be  plazed  if  the  misthiss  wasn't  in  the 
place,  and  might  suspect,  or  the  like.  I  hope  your  honor  i.i 
not  offinded." 


134  RORY  O'MORE. 

The  emphasis  on  '■'■your  honor  knows  "  and  "■suspect"  wa= 
accompanied  by  sly  smiles  and  winks,  and  significant  nods; 
and  the  colonel  sr.w  clearly  that  Rory  was  possessed  of  the 
knowledge  of  his  intrigue  with  Mrs.  Scrubbs,  and  that  the 
best  thing  he  could  do  was  to  make  him  his  friend  ;  so  he 
said  very  gently  : 

"  Offended  '  my  good  fellow,  not  at  all.  And  so  you 
came  over  to  tell  your  mistress  ? " 

"  I  thought  it  best,  sir  ;  for  indeed  she  is  a  pleasant  lady, 
and  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  that  she'd  get  into  throuble, 
nor  your  honor,  aither." 

*'  Well,  here's  something  to  drink  my  health." 

"  Oh,  your  honor,  sure  I  wouldn't." 

"  I  insist  upon  it,"  said  the  colonel,  forcing  five  guineas 
into  Rory's  hand,  who  did  all  in  his  power  not  to  take 
them  ;  for,  though  he  hesitated  not  to  execute  this  manoeu- 
vre to  save  his  life,  he  did  not  like  receiving  money  on  a 
false  pretence. 

"  Indeed,  thin,  I  never  intinded  to  take  money,  nor  to 
tell  your  honor  of  it  at  all — only  the  misthiss,  but  for  the 
quare  accident  that  brought  me  before  your  honor." 

"  I'm  glad  I've  seen  you,"  said  the  colonel,  "to  reward 
your  fidelity  to  your  mistress  :  she  shall  be  home  before 
to-morrow." 

"  Troth,  then,  I  pity  her  to  be  obleeged  to  lave  so  iligant 
a  gintleman." 

"  Hush  !  "  said  the  colonel. 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Rory,  winking  and  laying  his  finger  on 
his  nose  ;  "  but  sure  you're  the  divil  among  the  women, 
colonel  !  " 

The  colonel  was  pleased  at  the  compliment  paid  to  his 
gallantry  ;  and  merely  saying  to  Rory:  "  Be  discreet,"  he 
called  in  the  persons  who  were  waiting  in  wonder  outside 
to  know  what  important  communication  had  been  going 
forward. 

"This  man  is  free,"  said  the  colonel ;  "  I'm  quite  satis- 
fied with  his  expla;.ations.  And,  sergeant,  take  him  with 
you  to  the  adjutant's  office,  and  let  him  have  a  pass." 

This  was  a  bit  of  finesse  on  the  colonel's  part  to  make 
it  appear  that  it  was  on  public  not  private  grounds  he  gave 
Rory  his  freedom  ;  for  at  this  period  a  pass  from  a  com- 
manding officer  empowered  the  bearer  to  go  unmolested 
at  all  hours,  and  was  intrusted  only  to  emissaries  or  known 
friends  of  the  government. 

The  colonel  was  so  thrown  off  his  guard  by  Rory's  rust 


RORY   C'MORE.  135 

dt  guerre  that  he  never  asked  his  name  ;  so  Ron'  obtained 
his  pass  without  being  known,  and  then  turned  his  face 
homeward.  As  he  rattled  along  the  road,  high  in  spirits, 
as  men  always  are  when  they  have  conquered  difficulties, 
his  head  was  in  a  whirl  at  the  retrospect  of  the  various  ad- 
ventures which  had  befallen  him  within  four-and-twenty 
hours. 

"First,  I  meet  French  missionaries"  (he  meant  emissa- 
ries, but  no  matter) — "thin  I  get  all  the  news  o' what's 
goin'  on  that  will  astonish  the  world — thin  I  get  a  rale  let- 
ter from  Gineral  Hoche — ah  !  there's  the  murdher  ! — the 
letther's  gone.  Bad  cess  to  it !  why  couldn't  I  conthrive 
to  keep  it  ?  But  no  matther — afther  all,  it  might  be  worse, 
sure  ;  if  'twas  found  I'd  be  hanged.  Not  that  I'd  care  so 
much  for  that,  as  the  thing  being  bloivn.  Indeed,  I  might 
ha'  been  hanged,  may  be,  afther  all  ;  only  I  knew  about 
the  colonel's  purty  doings.  Well,  well — to  think  that  the 
sins  of  one  woman  should  save  the  life  of  another  man  ! 
But  that's  the  will  o'  God  and  the  blessed  Vargin.  And  to 
think  I  should  not  only  get  home  safe,  but  have  five 
goolden  guineas  in  my  pocket  into  the  bargain  !  Throth^ 
Rory,  luck's  on  your  side,  my  boy  !  " 

Now,  it  was  not  merely  luck  on  Rory's  side,  for  he 
turned  all  the  accidents  to  good  account  whicla  would  liave 
been  thrown  away  on  a  fool  ;  and  this,  after  all,  is  what 
makes  the  difference,  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  every 
hundred,  between  a  lucky  and  unlucky  man.  The  un- 
lucky man  often  plays  life's  game  with  good  cards  and 
loses  ;  while  the  lucky  man  plays  the  same  game  with  bad 
ones  and  wins.  Circumstances  are  the  rulers  of  the  weak 
— they  are  but  the  instruments  of  the  wise. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Being  a  Mixture  of  Romance  and  Reality. 

The  interest  which  De  Lacy  felt  on  Rory's  return,  in  lis- 
tening to  the  important  intelligence  he  brought,  was 
mingled  with  amusement  at  the  adventurous  way  in  which 
he  had  conducted  the  enterprise.  The  loss  of  the  letter 
he  did  not  much  regard,  as  the  most  valuable  information 
it  could  have  conveyed  was  in  his  possession,  namely,  the 
preparation  of  the  extensile  armament  for  the  invasion  of 


136  RORY  O'MORE. 

the  island  ;  and,  tinder  the  circumstances,  he  not  only  did 
not  blame  Rory  for  the  mishap,  but  gave  him  great  credit 
for  his  courage  and  intelligence  ;  for  Rory  had  communi- 
cated to  him  every  particular  of  his  adventures.  De  Lacy 
blamed  De  Welskein  for  holding  the  unlicensed  commun- 
ion Rory  described  in  his  cellar,  and  assured  O'More  he 
was  not  aware  that  such  was  the  smuggler's  practice  when 
lie  sent  him  on  his  mission. 

"  You  don't  imagine,  Rory,  that  I  would  countenance 
nor  be  the  companion  of  such  ruffians  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  you  wouldn't,  sir,"  said  Rory,  "  and  I  hope 
you  don't  think  I'd  suppose  such  a  thing." 

"No  ;  but  as  you  were  sent  there  by  me,  I  wish  you  to 
understand " 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  don't  mind  such  a  thrifle,"  said  Rory. 

"  I  don't  think  it  a  trifle,"  said  De  I.acy. 

"  But,  sure,  if  it  was  you  was  there,  of  coorse  he  wouldn't 
^xave  done  the  like  by  you,  sir." 

"  He  dare  not,  the  rascal  !     But  that's  not  enough  ;  he 

shouldn't  have  treated  my  agent  so  ;  but,   to    be  sure,  in 

these   affairs   one   must   not  be  too  particular.     They  say 

,(?overty  makes  men  acquainted   with   strange   bedfellows, 

.  and  revolutions  must  do  the  sariie  thing." 

Yet,  much  as  De  Lacy  strove  to  reconcile  the  thing  to 
\i\s  feelings,  his  delicacy  revolted  at  the  scene  of  brutal  de- 
bauch that  Rory,  a  pure-hearted  peasant,  was  made  the 
witness  and  partly  the  partaker  of.  De  Lacy  was  in  every 
way  an  enthusiast.  He  believed  in  that  high  standard  of 
human  virtue  which  could  sacrifice  all  for  virtue's  sake  ; 
his  love  of  liberty  was  pure — unstained  by  one  unholy  mo- 
live,  and  however  much  he  might  be  blamed  by  those 
who  thought  the  cause  in  which  he  was  engaged  unjustifi- 
able, or  even  flagitious,  his  motives,  at  least,  were  high 
and  noble  ;  they  might  be  called  mistaken,  but  not  unwor- 
thy. 

His  profession  as  a  soldier,  his  present  exploit  as  a  pat- 
riot, and  his  love  as  a  man,  were  all  undertaken  and  pur- 
sued with  a  feeling  belonging  rather  to  the  age  of  chivalry 
Vthan  the  time  in  which  he  lived.  Or  it  might  be,  perhaps, 
more  truly  said,  belonging  to  his  own  particular  period  of 
existence — that  glorious  spring-time  when  every  leaf  of 
life  is  green,  and  the  autumn  of  experience  has  not  laid 
the  withering  tint  of  distrust  upon  one.  The  age  of  chiv- 
alry, did  I  say  ?  Every  young  and  noble  heart  has  its  own 
age  of  chivalry! 


RORY  O'MORE.  137 

De  Lacy's  love  has  been  once  mentioned  before — at  lease 
glanced  at  ;  and  it  may  be  as  well  to  give  some  slight  no- 
tice of  that  event,  so  interesting  in  most  people's  lives. 
Not  that  De  Lacy's  love  has  much  to  do  with  the  events 
about  to  be  recorded  ;  but,  as  it  will  be  necessary  to  touch 
upon  it  perhaps  elsewhere,  the  reader  may  just  be  given  ;t. 
peep  into  the  affair  ;  besides,  it  will  help  to  exhibit  the  re- 
fined nature  of  De  Lacy's  mind. 

He  had  left  behind  him  in  Paris  a  girl  to  whom  he  was 
deeply  attached,  and  by  whom  he  believed  himself  to  be 
ardently  beloved.  But  Adele  Verbigny  was  unworthy  of 
such  a  love  as  De  Lacy's,  inasmuch  as  she  could  not  un- 
derstand it.  Love  was  with  her  a  necessity ;  she  thought 
it  quite  indispensable  that  every  young  lady  should  have  a 
lover  ;  and  if  that  lover  was  a  hero,  so  much  the  better. 
Now,  De  Lacy  happened  to  be  a  handsome  fellow,  and  a 
soldier,  and  when  he  volunteered  to  undertake  the  danger- 
ous mission  to  Ireland,  she  was  charmed,  because  that  her 
Horace  should  be  the  "  saviour  of  a  nation,"  etc.,  she 
considered  a  triumph  to  herself.  So,  babbling  in  the  ex-^ 
aggerated  jargon  of  the  feverish  time  in  which  she  spoke, 
she  said  she  offered  up  the  hopes  of  her  heart  upon  the  al- 
tar of  freedom,  and  desired  him  to  go  and  disenthrall  his 
native  land  from  the  3^oke  of  tyranny,  and  then  return 
crowned  with  laurels  to  enjoy  her  love. 

De  Lacy  believed  the  little  Parisian  felt  all  she  said,  and 
loved  her  better  than  ever.  While  he  was  yet  uncertain  of 
the  moment  of  his  departure,  he  received  a  perem.ptory 
summons  from  the  Directory  to  start  immediately  with  a 
government  courier  to  the  coast.  He  hastened  to  the  house 
of  Adele  to  take  a  tender  farewell.  Her  mother  met  him 
as  he  entered  the  apartment. 

"  Hush  ! "  said  she  ;  "  Adele  sleeps." 

"I  have  not  a  single  moment  to  wait,"  said  De  Lacy  ; 
"  I'm  summoned  on  the  instant  to  depart." 

"You  see  she  sleeps,"  said  the  mother:  "she  cried  so 
much  last  night  at  the  separation  of  the  lovers  in  the  play, 
that  she  was  quite  overcome.  Her  nerves  have  been 
shattered  all  day,  and  she  went  asleep  just  now  on  the  sofa 
to  restore  herself." 

"  Sweet  soul  !  "  said  De  Lacy — "  poor  Adele  !  if  she  wept 
at  a  fictitious  separation,  what  would  she  suffer  at  a  real 
one  ?  I  will  not  wake  her — no — mine  be  the  pain  of  part- 
ing. Tell  her,"  said  he,  tenderly,  and  he  looked  at  the 
sleeping  girl  while   he  spoke  to  her  mother — "  tell  hei-  -J 


138  RORY  O'MORE. 

go  to  fulfil  my  duty  to  my  country.  I  will  return  with  its 
blessings  and  the  laurels  of  victory  to  lay  at  her  feet,  and 
then  I  shall  be  worthy  of  her."  He  knelt  to  kiss  her,  but 
paused.  "No,"  he  said,  "I  might  awake  her;  this  is  all 
I  shall  take,"  and  he  gently  drew  a  flower  from  the  folds 
of  her  dress — "  'tis  a  type  of  her  beauty,  her  sweetness, 
and  her  innocence  !  "  He  then  rose  and  hurried  to  depart. 
"Farewell,  mother,"  said  he — "permit  me  to  call  you  so 
— and  tell  Adele  why  I  would  not  wake  her  ;  and  will  she 
not  love  me  the  better  when  she  knows  how  much  I  re- 
nounced in  relinquishing  the  parting  charm  of  a  kiss  and 
a  blessing  from  her  own  bright  lips?"  He  could  trust 
himself  to  say  no  more,  but  he  rushed  from  the  house. 

The  ravings  of  De  Lacy  during  his  dangerous  illness  had 
been  divided  between  the  recollection  of  Adele  and  antici- 
pation of  the  intended  revolutionary  struggle.  On  his  re- 
covery, however,  his  mind  reverted  more  pleasurably  to 
the  former  subject  than  the  latter  ;  for,  to  his  enfeebled 
nerves,  love  was  a  theme  more  congenial  than  war. 

In  such  a  frame  of  mind  it  was  that  De  Lacy  sat  in  his 
bedroom,  a  few  days  after  his  recovery,  with  some  papers 
lying  before  him,  and  his  eyes  resting  on  the  flower  he  had 
taken  from  the  bosom  of  Adele  the  night  he  had  parted 
from  her.  He  thought  of  the  circumstances  of  that  part- 
ing ;  and  as  the  sleeping  girl  was  recalled  to  his  fancy,  his 
heart  went  through  all  the  emotions  of  that  parting  again, 
through  the  influence  of  an  imagination  always  vivid,  but 
now  rendered  more  delicately  sensitive  through  the  agency 
of  that  susceptibility  of  nerve  which  the  languor  succeed- 
ing a  severe  illness  produces,  and  the  fulness  of  his  heart 
and  the  excitement  of  his  fancy  found  vent  in  recording 
his  farewell  and  the  emotions  of  that  moment  in  verse  ; 
and,  dedicating  to  his  Adele  the  inspiration  of  his  muse,  hs 
wrote  the  following : 

"SONG. 


"  Sleep,  my  love — sleep,  my  love, 
Wake  not  to  weep,  my  love, 
Though  thy  sweet  eyes  are  all  hidden  from  me  ; 

Why  shouldst  thou  wakeii  to  sorrows  like  mine,  love, 
While  thou  may'st,  in  dreaming,  taste  pleasure  divine,  love? 
For  l:)lest  are  the  visions  of  slumbers  like  thine,  love — ■ 
So  sleep  thee,  nor  know  who  says  '  Farewell  to  thee  !  * 


RORY  O'MORE.  139 

II. 

*^  Sleep,  my  love — sleep,  my  love, 
Wake  not  to  weep,  my  love, 

Though  thy  sweet  eyes  are  all  hidden  from  me  ; 
Hard  'tis  to  part  without  one  look  of  kindness, 
Yet  sleep  more  resembles  fond  love  in  its  blindness, 
And  thy  look  would  enchain  me  again  ;  I  find  less 

Of  pain  to  say,   'Farewell,  sweet  slumb'rer,  to  thee  !  '  " 

Thus  in  writing  and  reading — for  De  Lacy  had  a  few- 
choice  books  with  him — some  days  were  passed  ;  but  his 
strength  began  to  return,  and  he  was  soon  able  to  walk 
abroad.  In  his  rambles,  a  book  was  mostly  his  compan- 
ion ;  and  it  was  the  frequency  of  his  being  observed  by  the 
country  people  in  the  act  of  reading  that  obtained  him  the 
name  of  "  The  Scholar,"  for  so  he  became  universally  called 
by  the  peasants,  who  liked  him  for  his  courteous  manner, 
and  the  freedom  with  which  he  conversed  with  them. 
Who  and  what  he  was,  they  did  not  care  ;  but  not  so  little 
Sweeny  and  Scrubbs,  who  used  to  exchange  mutual  "  won- 
ders "  with  each  other  as  to  "What  the  deuce  he  could  be  ? 
What  brought  him  him  here  ?  What  was  he  about  ?"  etc.. 
and  the  conclusion  they  always  arrived  at  was,  both 
shaking  their  heads  very  significantly,  and  saying,  "Very 
odd  !  "  De  Lacy  avoided  the  village  in  his  walks.  In  the 
first  place,  the  retirement  of  the  quiet  banks  of  the  river, 
or  the  wildness  of  the  hills  above  it,  was  more  congenial 
to  his  temper  ;  and  secondly,  he  wished  to  keep  himself 
beyond  the  range  of  observation  as  much  as  possible. 
With  reading  and  sketching,  and  making  short  excursions 
into  the  adjacent  country,  his  days  passed  pleasantly 
enough,  while  all  the  time  he  was  taking  note  of  what  he 
saw  and  heard  ;  for  though  the  expected  assistance  from 
the  Texel,  of  which  he  was  in  daily  hopes  of  receiving  in- 
telligence, rendered  it  unnecessary  to  write  to  General 
Clarke  on  the  subject,  as  the  blow  he  expected  would  be 
struck  without  any  urgency  on  his  pait,  yet  his  own 
anxiety  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  the  internal  state  of  the 
country  stimulated  his  inquiries.  Old  Phelim,  the  school- 
master, was  often  questioned  on  such  matters  ;  and  his 
oddity  amused,  while  his  information  satisfied  De  Lacy. 

It  might  be  supposed  by  the  general  reader  that,  en- 
gaged in  such  a  cause  as  De  Lacy  then  was,  an  introduc- 
tion to  the  parish  priest  would  have  been  held  desirable  ; 
but  it  was  not  so — far  from  it.     De  Lacy,  in  common  with 


I40  RORV   O'MORE. 

all  the  leaders  of  the  political  movement  then  going  for- 
ward in  Ireland,  desired  to  shun,  by  every  possible  means, 
any  contact  with  the  priesthood.  The  results  of  the 
French  Revolution  had  given  the  alarm  to  the  clergy  of  all 
denominations;  and  the  Irish  Roman  Catholic  priests,  so 
far  from  countenancing  the  introduction  of  revolutionary 
principles  into  Ireland,  had  refused  absolution  to  "  The 
Defenders,"  a  political  union  formed  among  the  lower 
orders  of  the  Catholic  Irish,  to  protect  themselves  from  the 
aggressions  of  the  "  Peep-o'-day  Boys,"  who  v!&re  Protes- 
ianis  and  Presbyterians.  The  dominant  party  in  Ireland 
have  endeavored  to  propagate  the  belief  that  the  rebellion 
of  1798  was  of  religious  origin,  and  put  in  practice  for  the 
murder  of  all  the  Protestants  in  Ireland  ;  but  what  is  the 
fact  ?  The  Society  of  United  Irishmen  was  first  estab- 
lislied  in  the  North  of  Ireland,  where  the  majority  of  the 
population  was  Protestant  and  Presbyterian.  It  was  by 
Protestants  and  Presbyterians  the  society  was  founded, 
and  Protestants  and  Presbyterians  were  its  principal 
leaders.  So,  to  credit  the  Orange  account  of  the  affair, 
we  must  believe  that  the  Protestants  originated  the  in- 
genious device  of  organizing  a  revolution  to  murder  them- 
sejves  ! 

The  truth  is  the  revolution  then  contemplated  was 
J)ure!y  political.^.  When  the  repeated  calls  for  reform  in  the 
Irish  Parliament  and  a  repeal  of  the  penal  laws  against 
Catholics  were  refused  till  disappointment  grew  into  de- 
spair, then,  and  not  till  then,  did  the  people  coalesce  to 
take  by  force  what  they  had  vainly  sought  by  petition. 
The  Catholics,  from  the  very  nature  of  their  religion, 
which  teaches  such  tame  submission  to  authority,  would 
'    never  have  dared  to  rebel. 

It   was   the  stern  Presbyterians,    reformers  by  descent, 

that  organized  the  movement  to  relieve  Ireland  from  the 

I   political    degradation    in  which    she  was   prostrated,  and 

I  long  oppression  at   last   roused    the  Roman  Catholics  to 

\'  make  common  cause  with  them. 

These  facts  I  mention,  lest  it  might  be  considered  in- 
consistent that  De  Lacy  should  not  have  been  in  league 
with  Father  Kinshela,  who,  so  far  from  countenancing  the 
influence  of  the  Frenchmen  in  Ireland,  considered  the 
Gallic  revolution  and  all  its  emissaries  to  be  quite  as  pes- 
tilential as  they  were  deemed  to  be  by  the  stanchest  Prot 
estant  in  the  land. 


RORY   O'MORE.  141 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

An  "Irish"  Fair  with  only  "One"  Fight  in  it— De  Welskein'«  Meta= 
morphoses — Learned  Pigs — Roasted  Ducks — Love  and  Murder, 
etc.,  etc. 

De  Lacy  bad  been  for  some  days  in  expectation  of  going 
to  a  neighboring  fair,  which  has  the  reputation  of  being  a 
scene  of  great  merriment  in  Ireland,  and  a  very  character- 
istic thing  ;  and  as  he  had  never  witnessed  such  a  meet- 
ing, his  curiosity  was  not  a  little  excited. 

It  was  agreed  that  he  and  Rory,  as  well  as  his  sister, 
with  her  suitor  Conolly — who,  by  the  way,  was  not  a  fav- 
ored, though  a  devoted  lover — should  form  a  party,  to 
which  Phelim  O'Flanagan  begged  to  be  added,  and  the  re- 
quest was  granted. 

"You  must  not  expect,  though,"  said  Rory,  addressing 
De  Lacy,  "  that  we'll  have  as  much  fun  as  usual  ;  for,  you 
see,  the  people  being  more  ?/«//^^/,  they  won't  fight  as  much 
as  they  do  in  common,  and  the  factions  is  laid  down  by 
common  consint  until  matthers  get  smooth  again — and 
when  we  have  justice  and  happiness  among  us  once  more, 
why  thin  we  can  enjoy  our  private  battles  according  to 
the  good  owld  fashion." 

"  That's  the  thing  that  surprises  me,"  said  De  Lacy, 
"  why  you  are  so  fond  of  factions.  You  are  good-humored 
and  pleasant  fellows  enough  individually  ;  but  when  a  set 
of  you  get  together,  you  scarcely  ever  part  without  fight- 

ing." 

"Why,  you  see,  sir,"  said  Phelim,  "it  is  the  nature  of 
man  to  be  disputaarious  in  their  various  degrees,  kings  for 
kingdoms,  scholars  for  argument,  and  so  on  ;  and  the  dis- 
putaariousness  of  human  natur'  is  as  like  to  brake  out 
about  which  barony  is  the  best  ball-players,  or  hurlers,  as 
if  Roosia  vindicated  Proosia,  or  Proosia  vindicated  Roosia; 
for  you  know,  sir,  being  a  scholar,  that  the  vindicativeness 
of  nations  to  aitch  other  is  no  more  than  the  vindicative- 
ness of  the  human  heart,  which  is  as  demonstherated  in  a 
parish,  or  a  barony,  or  a  townland,  or  the  like  as  in  the 
more  circumscribed  circle  of  an  empire,  or  a  principala- 
tine,  all  as  one  as  a  circle  is  a  circle,  whatever  the  size  of 
it  may  be,  from  a  platther  up  to  a  cart-wheel.  Q.  E.  D. 
What  was  to  be  demonstherated  ! "  and  Phelim  took  snuff, 
as  usual. 


142  RORY   O'MORE. 

"  Admirably    demonstrated    indeed  ! "    said    De    Lacy- 
maintaining  his  gravity  :  "  but,  if  the  matter  in  dispute  be 
ball-playing  or  wrestling,  would  not  the  surest  method  oi 
settling  the  business  be  to  play  an  equal  match  of  eithei: 
of  the  given  games,  instead  of  beating  each  other  ?  " 

**  Arrah,  what  else  do  we  do  ?"  said  Rory. 

"  You  always  fight  instead  !  " 

**  But  how  can  we  help  that  ?  Sure  we  always  do  chal- 
lenge each  other  to  play  a  match  of  ball  or  hurling,  and 
thin,  in  the  coorse  of  play,  one  man  gives  a  false  ball,  or 
another  cuts  it,  and  thin  there's  a  dispute  about  it  ;  or  in 
hurlin',  the  same  way,  in  the  hate  of  the  game  may  be 
the  fellow  before  you  is  jist  goin'  to  have  the  ball  all  to 
himself,  and  you  afther  him,  \\o\.  foot  ;  what  can  you  do  but 
give  him  a  thrip  ?  and  away  he  goes  head  over  heels,  and 
if  he's  not  disabled,  there's  a  chance  he  loses  his  timpen 
and  comes  to  thrip  you — when,  may  be  he  is  not  so  neces- 
sitated to  thrip  jjWif  as  jw/wor  to  thrip  him,  and  that  doesn't 
stand  to  rayson  \nyoitr  opinion,  and  maybe  you  can't  help 
givin'  him  a  clip  o'  the  hurl,  and  down  he  goes  ;  and  th^n,, 
may  be,  one  o'  his  barony  sees  that,  and  doesn't  think  it; 
raysonable,  and  slaps  at  you,  and  so  on  it  goes  like  fire 
among  flax,  and  the  play  turns  into  a  fight  in  no  time  ; 
and  indeed  in  the  long  run  we  find  'tis  the  best  way  of 
arguin'the  point — for  there  might  be  some  fractious  sperits 
would  dispute  about  the  fairness  o'  this  play,  or  the  fair- 
ness o'  that  play,  and  that  it  was  an  accident  settled  fhe 
game  ;  but  when  it  comes  to  rale  fightin',  there  can  be  no 
words  about  it — for,  you  see,  when  you  dhrive  every 
mother's  son  o'  them  before  you,  and  fairly  leather  them 
out  o'  the  field,  there  can  be  no  mistake  about  it." 

"But  does  not  that  produce  bad  blood  among  you?" 
said  De  Lacy. 

"By  no  means,"  said  Rory;  "why  should  it?  Sure 
haven't  they  the  chance  of  wollopin'  us  the  next  time  ?  " 

"And  that  perpetuates  the  dispute,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Rory,  "that's  the  fun  of  it.  Oh,  it 
would  only  be  a  cowardly  thing  to  be  always  fightin'  a 
party  you  were  sure  to  bate  ! — there  would  be  an  end  of 
the  glory  intirely." 

"All  party,"  thought  De  Lacy,  "  is  like  Rory's  game  of 
hurling  ;  those  who  are  out  endeavor  to  trip  up  those  who 
are  in — and,  in  conclusion,  the  only  game  left  is  to  leathei 
them  Old  of  the  field  ;  when  there  can  be  no  mistake  about  it," 

It  was  the  next  day  following  Rory's  and  Phelim's  elo- 


RORY   O'^MORE.  143 

quent,  lucid,  and  reasonable  exposition  of  the  necessity  and 
propriety  of  party  fights,  that  the  fair  was  held  on,  and  the 
party,  as  already  named,  started  for  the  scene  of  amuse- 
ment— Conolly  having  the  honor  of  being  gentleman  in 
waiting  on  Mary  O'More,  handing  her  over  stiles,  etc., 
Phelini  and  Rory  bearing  De  Lacy  company. 

On  arriving  at  the  scene  of  action,  they  found  the  fair 
tolerably  "throng,"  as  the  phrase  is  in  Ireland,  and  the 
momert  they  were  well  on  the  ground,  ConoUy  com- 
menced the  series  of  gallantries  which  every  aspirant  to  a 
pretty  girl's  favor  goes  through  on  a  fair-day,  by  buying 
a  large  stock  of  gingerbread  cakes,  which  appeared  to 
have  been  made  of  brown  paper  and  treacle,  and  apples  to 
match,  and  requesting  the  whole  party,  including  De  Lacy, 
who  was  most  politely  solicited,  to  partake  of  the  feast. 
Now  when  people  are  at  fairs  it  is  a  point  of  honor  to 
eat,  and  drink,  and  see  all  that  you  can — in  short,  till  you 
can  eat,  and  drink,  and  see  no  more;  and  all  the  party 
present,  except  De  Lacy,  seemed  determined  their  honor 
should  not  be  called  in  question. 

The  cake  and  apple  stands  were  generally  formed  by 
the  common  car  of  the  country  being  backed  into  what- 
ever position  it  could  take  up  on  the  fair-ground  ;  and  the 
horse  being  unyoked,  a  forked  pole  of  sufficient  strength 
was  stuck  in  the  ground,  and  the  backhand  of  the  car  be- 
ing deposited  between  the  prongs,  it  at  once  obtained  sup- 
port ;  after  which  some  wattles  (long  supple  boughs)  being 
bent  over  the  vehicle,  a  quilt  was  thrown  across  these  rus- 
tic rafters,  to  form  an  awning,  and  the  cakes  and  apples 
were  spread  on  some  sacks,  perhaps,  or  something  equally 
coarse — anything,  in  short,  to  cover  the  bare  boards  of  the 
car,  that  probably  carried  a  load  of  sand  or  earth,  or  some- 
thing not  so  agreeable,  the  day  before,  and  was  now  at 
once  converted  into  a  cake-shop.  In  one  corner  of  the 
concern  a  glass  and  a  black  bottle  with  something  in  it  were 
to  be  seen  ;  and  under  the  car,  from  the  middle  of  a  bundle 
of  straw,  you  might  perceive  the  muzzle  of  a  large  jar  pro- 
truding, whence  the  black  bottle  could  be  replenished  as 
occasion  required. 

Booths  were  erected  for  the  accommodation  of  those 
who  chose  to  dance,  and  drink  to  refresh  themselves  ;  andl 
both  these  amusements — that  is  to  say,  dancing  and  drink- 
ing— seemed  to  be  the  staple  commodities  of  the  fair,  even 
at  an  early  hour,  but  the  dancing-tents  were  not  in  their 
full  glory  till  much  later  in  the  day. 


*44  KORY    O'MORE. 

There  w.is  throwing  for  gingerbread,  and  other  amuse- 
ments incidental  to  such  scenes  ;  but  nothing  very  sdrring 
in  this  line  seemed  as  yet  to  have  set  in.  So  the  party 
strolled  on  through  the  crowd  ;  Rory  remarking  to  De 
Lacy  as  they  went,  that  he  had  told  him  there  would  be 
be  little  or  no  fun — "  and  you  see  how  quiet  they  are," 
said  Rory. 

"  God  save  you,  Phelim,"  said  a  well-dressed  peasant. 

"  God  save  you  kindly,"  answered  Phelim. 

"  How  does  the  gossoons  do  without  vou,  Phelim, 
agra?" 

"Oh,  I  gev  the  craythurs  a  holiday,"  said  Phelim.  "  I 
don't  like  to  be  too  hard  on  them.  Exercise  is  good  for 
'..he  gossoons  when  they  are  at  college,  for  larnin'  lies 
heavy  on  the  stomach." 

"  Thrue  for  you,  Phelim,  Not  that  I  know  much  about 
larnin'  ;  but  I  know  you  mustn't  brake  the  heart  of  a  young 
cowlt." 

And  so  saying,  off  Phelim's  friend  went. 

They  now  approached  a  portion  of  the  fair  where  sales 
of  cattle  were  going  forward. 

"  How  is  the  bastes  goin'  ?"  said  Rory  to  a  farmer. 

"Indeed,  it's  back  they'll  be  goin',"  said  the  farmer; 
"there's  no  price  at  all  here— that  is,  for  bastes;  but  I 
hear  pigs  is  lively." 

"  What's  thim  I  see  up  on  the  hill  ?  "  says  Rory.  "  Is  it 
sogers  ?  " 

"No  less,"  said  the  farmer;  "though,  indeed,  they 
might  save  themselves  the  throuble— they  kem  here  to 
watch  us  ;  but  there  won't  be  a  blow  struck  to-day." 

"Thrue  for  you,"  said  Rory  ;  and  so  they  parted. 

They  next  approached  a  show-box  where  an  exhibition 
of  Punch  and  Judy  seemed  to  give  great  amusement. 
That  interesting  domestic  history  was  about  half-way 
through  when  our  hero  and  his  party  arrived  ;  and  Rory 
had  been  telling,  in  a  hasty  manner  to  Mary,  the  nature  of 
Punch's  adventures,  as  they  approached.  "Make  haste, 
now,"  said  Rory,  "for  it's  better  nor  a  play.  I  seen  a  play 
when  I  was  in  Dublin,  but  Punch  and  Judy  is  worth  two 
of  it.  Run  !  run  !  there,  he  is  goin'  to  kill  his  wife  and 
child,  the  comical  owld  blackguard  !  " 

They  arrived  in  time  to  witness  the  death  of  Mrs.  Punch 
and  the  child,  and  then  the  doctor  was  sent  for.  The  doc- 
tor made  his  appearance,  and  Punch,  after  his  legitimate 
squeak,  began  : 


RORY   O'MORE.  t«.r 

"Doctaw-r!" 

*'  Sare  ? "  said  the  doctor. 

"Can  you  cure  my  wife  ?" 

"Yes,  sare." 

"  What  will  you  give  her  ? " 

"  Some  ghosfs  milk." 

Rory  started.  "  By  ail  that's  good  that' s  himself  ! "  said 
he. 

"  Why,  is  it  a  rale  doctor  ? "  said  Mary. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Rory.     "  I  was  only" he  paused,  and 

withdrawing  from  Mary,  he  beckoned  De  Lacy  from  the 
group,  and  said,  "That  is  Mr.  Devilskin  that's  there,' 
pointing  to  a  show  box. 

"  Where  ? "  said  De  Lacy. 

"There,"  said  Rory,  pointing  again  ;  "  inside  the  show- 
box.  I'd  take  my  oath  it's  him.  I  thought  I  knew  his 
voice  at  first,  but  I'd  sware  to  \.h.Q  ghost's  miik." 

And  so  it  was  De  Welskein.  It  has  been  said  that  he 
was  fond  of  intrigue  and  adventure,  and  he  was  quite  in 
his  element  in  thus  masquerading  through  the  country  ; 
and  while  he  was  sowing  rebellion  from  his  love  of  revo- 
lution, and  reaping  profit  from  his  tobacco,  it  was  pride 
and  glory  to  him  to  be  playing  the  buffoon  at  the  same 
time,  which  was  at  once  a  source  of  pleasure  and  security  ; 
for  the  smuggler  was  never  long  in  one  spot,  but  changing 
to  different  places  in  different  characters. 

"  I  want  to  see  him,"  said  De  Lacy,  "and  am  glad  of 
this  chance  meeting.  We  must  watch  an  opportunity  to 
speak  to  him  when  the  show  is  over." 

While  they  were  waiting  for  this  a  group  of  horsemen 
approached  the  show,  and  Rory  among  them  saw  Squire 
Ransford,  the  parson.  Sweeny,  and  Scrubbs  ;  the  latter 
engaged  in  conversation  with  "  the  colonel  "—he  who  had 
given  Rory  his  freedom  and  his  pass.  Rory  saw  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  retreat,  as,  if  he  were  seen,  his  whole 
finesse  about  Mrs.  Scrubbs  would  be  blown,  he  would  get 
into  trouble,  and  his  name  be  in  the  colonel's  possession, 
who,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  never,  in  his  hurry  to  dis- 
miss our  hero,  asked  who  he  was.  Therefore,  screening 
himself  behind  De  Lacy,  he  told  him  how  matters  stood, 
and  taking  Mary  and  Conolly  with  him,  he  left  De  Lacy 
with  Phelim  for  a  guide.  "  If  we  don't  meet  again  in  the 
fair,"  said  Rory,  "we  must  only  wait  till  we. go  home  ;" 
and  he  retired  rapidly  from  the  spot,  unobserved  by  tlie 
horsemen  who  had  caused  his  sudden  retreat.     Appoint* 

lO 


r46  RORY   O'MORE. 

ing  then  a  place  of  rendezvous  with  Mary  and  Conolly 
Rory  left  them,  and  they  returned  to  witness  the  finale  of 
Punch  and  Judy. 

Rory  pushed  his  way  through  the  principal  row  of 
booths,  where  the  dancing  and  drinking  were  going  on 
prosperously,  and  entering  that  under  whose  sign  his  ap- 
pointed meeting  with  his  sister  and  her  cavalier  was  to 
take  place,  he  sat  down,  and  calling  for  a  small  portion  of 
drink,  refreshed  himself,  intending  when  that  was  over  to 
rest  himself  with  dancing.  While  he  sat,  he  perceived 
Regan  and  Kathleen  enter  at  the  further  end  of  the  booth, 
and  his  heart  bounded  at  the  sight  of  the  girl  he  loved  : 
but  his  joy  was  damped  at  the  thought  that  in  her  brother's 
presence  he  had  better  not  approach  her.  To  his  unmis- 
takable joy,  however,  he  saw  Regan  depart,  leaving  Kath- 
leen, after  speaking  a  few  words  to  her  ;  and  when  he  was 
some  seconds  gone,  Rory  moved  toward  the  girl  of  his 
heart  gayly,  and,  as  her  head  was  turned  away,  he  pro- 
posed surprising  her  by  his  presence  ;  so,  approaching  un- 
observed, he  tapped  her  smartly  on  the  shoulder,  and  had 
his  most  winning  smile  ready  to  meet  her  when  she  should 
turn.  When  she  did  turn,  instead  of  the  flush  of  joy  which 
Rory  anticipated,  a  deadly  paleness  and  a  look  of  reserve 
Were  on  the  countenance  of  Kathleen,  and  Rory's  blood 
ran  cold  to  his  heart. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Kathleen  dear  ?  "  said  Rory. 

Kathleen  could  not  answer. 

"What  is  the  matter? — for  God's  sake  tell  me?"  said 
Rory  impressively,  for  he  saw  by  the  girl's  manner  that  an 
unfavorable  impression  had  been  made  upon  her  as  re- 
garded him. 

"  Rory,"  said  Kathleen,  with  that  reproachful  tone  which 
an  offended  woman  only  can  assume,  "  Rory,"  said  she, 
"  need  you  ask  me  ?  " 

"What  have  I  done,  Kathleen,  jewel  ?" 

"  Oh,  Rory  !  so  soon  to  desaive  and  think  light  o'  me  ! " 

"Me,  Kathleen— by  all  that's  good " 

"  Whisht,  Rory — whisht — swearing  won't  make  it  bet- 
ther." 

"  But  what  is  it,  Kathleen  ? " 

"  Oh,  Rory,  don't  be  so  desaitful.  You  know  you've 
wronged  me  !  " 

"  By  this  blessed  light  I  never  wronged  you,  Kathleen  !" 
There  was  something  bearing  such  iiilierenL  evidence  of 
sincerity  in  Rory's  manner  tliat  Kathleen  hesitated  for  a 


KORY  O'MORE.  147 

moment,  and  looked  inquiringly  into  his  face  ,  but  sud- 
denly withdrawing  her  eyes  and  dropping  her  voice,  she 
said  :  "I'd  willingly  b'lieve  you,  Rory,  but " 

"  But  what  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  I  don't  like  to  accuse  you,  but  you  know "  again 

she  paused. 

"What?"  said  Rory,  impatiently. 

"  The   cellar,"  said  Kathleen. 

The  word  was  enough.  With  all  that  magic  rapidity 
of  thought  which  instantaneously  links  a  chain  of  cir- 
cumstances together,  Rory  saw  that  his  conduct  in  De 
Welskein's  cellar  had  been  misrepresented  ;  and  when  he 
remembered  how  the  girl  he  had  danced  with  had  fastened 
herself  upon  him,  he  could  not  but  see  that  circumstances 
might  be  made  to  bear  hard  against  him  in  the  opinion  of 
the  woman  he  was  courting — he  was  silenced  by  Kathleen's 
one  word — and  she,  mistaking  his  silence  for  guilt,  was 
rising  to  leave  the  booth,  when  Rory,  taking  her  hand  and 
pressing  it  closely,  said  : 

"  Kathleen,  you  wrong  me,  I  know  what  you  mane, 
but " 

"  Let  go  my  hand,"  said  Kathleen.  "  You  had  better  look 
for  the  hand  of  the  lady  you  like  so  much  ;  I  b'lieve  you 
can  find  her  in  the  fair,"  and  she  again  made  an  effort  to 
go,  but  Rory  still  detained  her. 

"  Kathleen,"  said  he,  "  it  is  only  Shan  Dhu  could  tell  you 
this,  and  I  did  not  think  he  had  so  black  a  heart  ;  for  by 
this  light " 

"Whisht  !  "  said  Kathleen  in  terror,  "  lave  me,  lave  me ; 
Shan  is  coming  back — I  see  him." 

"Well,  promise  to   meet  me  till  I  clear  myself  to  you." 

"  Rory,  don't  be  sthriving  to  desaive  a  poor  girl — go,  I 
tell  you." 

"  I  won't  go  unless  you  promise." 

"  If  you've  any  pity  for  me  go,  Shan  is  close  by." 

"  Promise  !  "  said  Rory,  impressively. 

"  I  will,  then,"  said  Kathleen  faintly. 

"  Meet  me  by  the  rath,  near  the  bridge,"  said  Rory,  "to- 
morrow evening.  God  bless  you,  Kathleen,  and  never 
b'lieve  I  have  the  heart  base  enough  to  wrong  you  !  " 

So  saying  he  kissed  her  hand  passionately  before  she 
could  withdraw  it,  and  slipping  out  through  an  opening 
in  the  side  of  the  booth,  he  left  it  without  being  perceived 
by  Regan.  Poor  Rory  was  heart  sick  at  the  thought  of 
Kathleen's  coldness,  and  he  looked  forward  with  the  im- 


148  RORY  O'MORE. 

patience  and  longing  of  a  child  for  the  morrow's  evening, 
which  he  hoped  would  serve  to  chase  every  doubt  from 
her  mind.  While  he  was  moving  through  the  crowd,  his 
attention  was  attracted  by  a  party  of  mummers,  who  were 
parading  up  and  down  on  a  platform,  in  dirty  rags  sprinkled 
with  rusty  spangles,  and  among  them  he  recognized  the 
girl  that  had  been  so  sweet  on  him  in  the  cellar  ;  he  then 
remembered  Kathleen  saying,  "  I  b'lieve  you  can  find  her 
in  the  fair,"  and  the  thought  struck  him  that  Regan  might 
have  even  pointed  out  the  flourishing  damsel  before  him 
as  his  paramour,  and  Rory's  shame  was  increased,  for,  with 
her  ruddied  cheeks,  short  petticoats,  and  shabby  finery,  she 
was  a  most  disgusting  object,  though  rather  a  fine  girl. 

While  Rory  looked  at  her,  he  fancied  he  caught  her  eye  ; 
and  its  brazen  glare  was  for  a  moment  darkened  by  a  de- 
moniac expression,  and  instantly  withdrawn.  He  wished 
more  and  more  for  the  evening  of  the  morrow.  On  he 
went  through  the  main  chain  of  tents,  but  seeing  the  squire 
and  the  colonel  approaching  again,  he  took  a  short  turn 
round  one  of  the  booths  and  avoided  them  ;  and  making  a 
detour,  he  returned  to  the  place  where  he  had  appointed 
Mary  and  Conolly  to  meet  him,  where  he  found  them  wait- 
ing. Joining  company,  they  commenced  another  ramble 
through  the  fair,  and  at  length  reached  a  booth  whence 
there  proceeded  much  laughter,  and  at  the  door  of  which 
a  bespangled  buffoon  was  inviting  the  people  to  enter  and 
see  the  wonderful  conjurer,  who  could  tell  fortunes  on 
cards  and  cure  all  sorts  of  diseases.  This  promised  much 
diversion,  and  the  laughter  continuing  to  appeal  to  the 
curiosity  of  those  outside,  a  fresh  party,  including  our 
hero,  his  sister,  and  her  admirer,  entered.  Here  they  saw 
a  man  in  a  bag-wig  and  cocked  hat,  laced  coat  and  ruffles, 
performing  various  sleight-of-hand  tricks  with  cards,  and 
other  feats  of  legerdemain  ;  and  after  making  his  behold- 
ers' eyes  the  size  of  saucers  with  wonder,  and  their  mouths 
of  equal  capacity,  he  proceeded  to  offer  for  sale  various 
nostrums  for  the  cure  of  diseases  ;  amongst  others,  he  pro- 
duced one  which  he  protested  most  solemnly  was  superior 
to  ghost's  milk. 

"  Devilskin  again  !  "  said  Rory  to  himself  ;  "  Devilskin, 
sure  enough  !— more  than  the  skin,  by  my  sowl,  for  I  think 
he's  the  d 1  himself!" 

Here  was  another  metamorphose  of  the  Frenchman.  He 
was  in  his  glory  ;  he  had  a  stall  in  the  fair,  in  good  hands 
for  the  sale  of  tobacco,  and  he  was  masquerading  it  and 


RORY  O'MORE.  Hg 

iuaking  money  in  another  quarter  ;  a  French  agent  in  the 
middle  of  the  fair,  where  the  army  were  lool^ers-on  to  see 
that  no  mischief  was  going  forward — this  was  his  glory  ; 
the  intrigue  and  romance  delighted  liim. 

Rory  left  the  booth — he  did  not  wish  to  meet  De  Wel- 
'  6kein's  eye,  not  that  he  feared  him  ;  he  could  not  tell  very 
well  himself  the  precise  cause  of  his  dislike  to  be  recog- 
nized by  the  smuggler,  but  there  was  an  undefined  feeling 
about  Rory  that  rather  shrunk  from  having  anything  to 
do  with  one  who  seemed  invested  with  mysterious  power. 

He  awaited  outside  the  booth  the  egress  of  his  sister  and 
ConoUy,  who  suggested  that  it  was  time  to  get  something 
for  dinner.  To  this  Rory  assented  ;  for,  nothwithstanding 
that  his  meeting  with  Kathleen  had  damped  his  enjoy- 
rnent,  his  appetite  was  of  too  keen  and  hale  a  nature  to  be 
iiifluenced  by  a  frown  from  his  mistress,  as  those  of  more 
lefined  lovers  are  said  to  be. 

"  Not  that  I  am  very  hungry,"  said  Rory. 

"Faith,  then  I  am,"  said  Conolly,  "for  exceptin'  five  or 
*ix  dozen  o'  gingerbread  and  a  score  o'  apples  or  so  be- 
tween us,  Mary  and  I  have  not  tasted  anything  to  signify." 

"  You  were  drinking  my  health  very  often,  too,"  said 
Mary 

"  Phoo  !  what  signifies  three  or  four  quarts  o'  portlier  !  " 

While  we  leave  this  hungry  party  looking  for  their  din- 
ner, let  us  return  to  De  Lacy  and  Phelim,  whom  we  left 
opposite  De  Welskein's  show-box. 

De  Lacy  took  his  opportunity  of  speaking  to  the  smug- 
gler, whom  he  followed  by  signal  to  a  booth,  and  leaving 
Phelim  standing  outside,  he  entered  the  booth,  and  a  rude 
curtain  was  drawn  across  the  orifice  by  which  they  came 
in.  De  Lacy  now  found  himself  in  a  small  canvas  apart- 
ment, from  which,  through  the  division  in  another  curtain, 
he  saw  into  a  large  space  beyond  the  sentry-box  sort  of 
place  in  which  he  stood. 

"Dis  my  teatre,"  said  De  Welskein. 

"  What  do  you  want  a  theatre  for  ?" 

"  To  'muse  myself — blind  de  vulgare — mak  romaunce — 
J'atme  les  aventiires  vous  savez,  monsieur." 

"  I  thought  smuggling " 

"  Sare  !  "   said  De  Welskein,  with  dignity. 

"  I  mean  your  mercantile  pursuits  would  have  given  you 
enough  of  employment." 

"  Bah — bagatelle — ever  boddee  can  be  marchand — bote  for 
ks  intrigues " 


150  RORY  O'MORE. 

"  That  requires  a  man  of  genius,"  said  De  Lacy. 

''Ah!  b'lieve  so,  indeet,"  said  De  Welskein,  with  great 
self-complacency. 

"But  then  your  political  mission,  is  not  that  enough  to 
fill  up  any  spare  time  you  can  withhold  from  your  mercan- 
tile pursuits  ? " 

"Yais — c'est  vrai—ord{nai7-eme7it — for  most  people — but 
me — love  intrigue — romaunce— ha  !  ha ! — besise— more  hard 
for  discover  to  certen  perszin.  Dis  day,  marchand — to-maw- 
row,  Ponshe  an'  Judee — now  me  shange  agen." 

Here  he  threw  off  his  coat,  and  proceeded  to  take  out 
of  a  canvas  bag  that  lay  under  some  straw  in  a  corner  the 
laced  coat  and  cocked  hat,  wig,  etc.,  in  which  Rory  sub- 
sequently saw  him  attired. 

"Now,  me  go  play  Doctair  Duck." 

"What  character  is  that  ?"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Quaak,  quaak,  quaak,"  said  De  Welskein,  with  a  spirit 
and  vivacious  expression  worthy  of  the  comedy  for  which 
his  country  is  so  famous. 

De  Lacy  laughed.      "  And  do  you  get  fees  ?  " 

"  Certainlee — no  fee,  no  docteur  ;  sell  leetle  peels — 
cure  everything — better  dan  ghost's  milk.  Besise,"  said  he, 
pulling  cards  from  his  pocket,  "  here  more  ting — hocus 
pocus — poots  cards  in  fool's  pauket — ha  !  ha  ! — mak  dem 
stare — tink  me  de  divil." 

"They're  not  far  out,"  thought  De  Lacy. 

De  Welskein  having  completed  his  attire,  painted  his 
face,  rubbed  burnt  cork  on  his  eyebrows,  and  shaken  flour 
into  his  wig,  held  some  short  conversation  on  the  state  of 
affairs  over  the  water  ;  and  De  Lacy,  thinking  it  better  not 
to  remain  too  long  in  such  company,  brought  his  confer- 
ence to  a  close  as  soon  as  possible  ;  and  after  telling  De 
Welskein  where  he  could  find  him,  he  drew  the  ragged 
curtain,  and  emerged  from  the  tiring-room  of  the  advent- 
urer. Having  rejoined  Phelim,  he  asked  him  what  was 
to  be  done  next,  for  he  determined  to  let  Phelim  do  the 
honors  of  the  fair. 

"  I  hear  there  is  a  pig  in  the  fair,  sir,"  said  the  cicerone. 

"I've  seen  some  hundreds  already,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"Oh,  you're  very  smart  on  me  now,"  said  Phelim,  "and 
ta'KC  me  up  short  ;  but  the  pig  I  mane  is  a  larned  pig." 

"  Indeed  !  where  is  he  to  be  seen  ?" 

"Somewhere  up  here,  I  hear.  Now,  I'd  like  to  see  that 
above  all  things,  for  though  I  know  to  my  cost  that  some 
children    is  no  better  than  pigs,  either  in  manners  or  in' 


KORY   O'MORE.  151 

.-ellex,  I  have  yet  to  be  insejised  how  a  pig  can  be  equal  to 
a  Chrishthan." 

They  soon  came  within  hearing  of  a  fellow  who  was 
roaring  at  the  top  of  his  voice  : 

"  Walk  in !  walk  in  !  walk  in,  ladies  and  gintlemin  •, 
here  is  the  wonderful  learned  pig  that  knows  the  five 
quarthers  o'  the  world,  and  more,  together  with  his  ABC 
and  apperceeand — and  goes  through  his  alphibbet  back- 
wars  ;  together  with  addishin,  substracshin,  multiplicashin, 
and  divishin  ;  knows  numerashin,  minshurashin,  naviga- 
shin,  and  botherashin "  (here  the  crowd  always  laughed) 
"together  with  various  accomplishments  too  numerous  to 
be  minshind  ;  smokes  tabakky,  and  tells  cunnundherums." 

"  Oh  !  do  you  hear  the  lies  he's  tellin' ! "  said  Phelim  ; 
*'  sure  no  pig  could  do  the  like,  barring  one  pig  that  is 
minshind  in  anshint  histhry." 

"  I  don't  remember  that  pig,  Phelim,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"Pig — maylius  ! "  said  Phelim,  bursting  in  triumph  at 
having  caught  De  Lacy  in  one  of  his  old  and  favorite 
jokes. 

De  Lacy  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  poor  old  man's 
ivhimsical  conceit,  and  complimenting  him  on  his  wit  he 
proposed  to  Phelim  that  they  should  see  if  what  was 
])romised  of  the  pig  was  true. 

"  Impossible,"  said  Phelim  ;  "  it's  only  throwing  away 
money." 

"We'll  see,  at  all  events,"  said  De  Lacy,  who,  paying 
sixpence,  which  was  twopence  more  than  was  required  for 
two  admissions,  he  and  the  schoolnaster  walked  up  a  low 
step-ladder  to  the  place  of  exhibition,  deafened,  as  they 
passed  the  crier,  by  his  vociferating,  "  Step  up,  ladies  ! 
just  goin'  to  begin.  Step  up,  step  up  ;  all  for  tuppence — 
only  tuppence  ;  the  learned  pig  ;  only  tuppence  for  min- 
surashin,  meditashin,  contimplashin',  navigashin,  and  ba^e- 
therashin  ! " 

When  the  company  had  been  collected  in  sufficient 
quantity,  a  shrewd-looking  fellow,  fantastically  dressed, 
led  in  a  pig  by  a  string  which  was  fastened  to  a  ring  in  the 
animal's  nose. 

The  pig  ascended  a  circular  platform,  in  the  middle  of 
which  a  pole  was  placed,  and  round  the  circle  were  sev- 
eral holes  cut. 

"  Now,  ladies  and  gintlemin,"  said  the  sliowman,  "this 
is  the  larned  pig,  that  is  perfect  masther  of  various 
branches  of  indicaskin  ;  and  first   and   foremost   he  wil] 


152 


ROR\    O'MORE. 


sliovv  you  his  knowledge  of  the  five  quarthers  of  the  world, 
aiqual  to  Captain  Cook,  that  performed  the  circumlocu- 
tion of  the  globe.  Excuse  me,  ladies,  till  I  give  him  his 
instrucshins." 

Here  he  put  his  mouth  to  his  pig's  ear,  and  the  pig 
grunted.  "He  says  he  is  happy  to  have  the  honor  of  your 
company,  ladies." 

Here  the  showman  was  encouraged  by  a  laugh  from 
the  spectators,  who,  all  being  willing  to  be  pleased, 
laughed  at  a  trifle. 

"What  did  he  say  to  him,  do  you  think?"  said  Phelim 
to  De  Lacy,  confidentially. 

"  I  suppose  he  gave  him  a  pig's  whisper,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Good,  sir,  good,"  said  Phelim  ;  by  dad  !  you're  always 
ready — a  pig's  whisper  ! — well,  I'll  never  forget  that !  " 

The  showman  now  laid  four  pieces  of  card,  with  th« 
names  of  the  four  quarters  of  the  world  written  upon  them, 
over  four  holes  on  the  opposite  parts  of  the  circle,  and 
said  : 

"  Now,  ladies,  which  o'  the  five  quarthers  o'  the  world 
shall    this  wonderful  scholar    show   you  ? — Europe,  Asia 
Afrikay,  or  Amerikay  ?" 

"Amerikay,  if  you  plaze,  sir,"  said  a  woman,  wh'j 
blushed  excessively  at  hearing  the  sound  of  her  own  void 
in  public. 

"  Sartainly,  ma'am.     Show  the  lady  Amerikay,  sir." 

The  animal  now  got  a  pull  of  the  string,  and  began 
poking  his  nose  round  the  circle,  and  at  last  stopped  at  tbj 
quarter  named,  and  shoved  the  card  over  the  hole. 

Great  applause  followed,  and  the  showman  rewarded 
the  pig  by  giving  him  an  acorn.  De  Lacy  saw  at  onci 
how  the  trick  was  done ;  but  to  Phelim's  question  o\ 
"  Arrah,  how  did  he  do  that  ?  "  he  made  no  reply  for  thn 
present. 

The  showman  was  about  to  remove  the  cards,  whei» 
Phelim  interrupted  him  : 

"  You  said,  sir,  you'd  show  the  five  quarthers  o'  th*- 
world  by  manes  o'  your  pig  ;  and,  indeed,  if  he  knows  fiv* 
quarthers,  it's  more  than  I  know." 

"  To  be  sure  he  knows  more  than  you  know,"  said  th« 
showman. 

A  burst  of  merriment  followed  this  hit  ;  for  many  of  th(? 
spectators  knew  Phelim,  and  that  a  pig  should  be  said  t(j 
know  more  than  he  did,  delighted  them.  When  the  lauglj> 
subsided,  Phelim  continued  ;  _ 


RORY  0\MORE.  153 

"  May  be  you  don't  know,  my  good  fellow,  that  you  are 
addhressing  a  philomath  ?" 

"  A  what  ? " 

"  A  philomath,  sir." 

The  showman  now  turned  to  the  pig,  and  putting  his 
mouth  to  his  ear,  as  before,  said  : 

"  Can  you  tell  me  what  is  a  filly-mat  ? "  The  pig 
grunted  again. 

"  He  says  a  filly-mat  is  a  grumblin'  owld  fellow." 

Another  laugh  against  Phelim  succeeded  the  showman's 
buffoonery,  whose  practised  effrontery  was  too  much  for 
Phelim.  Phelim,  however,  was  too  used  to  triumph  to 
give  in  so  easily,  particularly  in  the  presence  of  so  many 
who  knew  him  ;  and  rallying  once  more,  he  said  : 

"  Well,  if  there  is  a  fifth  quarther  o'  the  world,  will  you 
be  so  good  as  to  tell  the  other  brute  there  to  show  it  ?  " 

Phelim  had  the  laugh  on  his  side  now.  A  laugh  is  a 
main  point  of  argument  with  Paddy  ;  and  whoever  has  the 
last  laugh,  has  the  best  of  the  battle  in  Ireland. 

The  showman  waited  till  the  laugh  was  lulled,  and  then 
addressing  the  pig,  he  said  : 

"Will  you  tell  that  ignorant  owld  fill-pot  what  the  fifth 
quarther  of  the  world  is  ?" 

The  pig  commenced  rubbing  himself  against  the  up- 
right stick  that  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  circle,  much  to 
the  merriment  of  the  ci'owd. 

"  There  !  "  said  tnv..  showman,  triumphantly. 

"  Is  that  what  you  call  answerin'  the  problem  I  pro- 
pounded ?"  said  Phelim,  who  thought  he  had  vanquished 
his  man,  and  got  magniloquent  in  consequence.  "  I  pro- 
pound to  yiz  all " 

"  If  you  were  poundin  from  this  till  to-morrow,  you're 
nothing  but  a  bosthoon,"  said  the  showman. 

Phelim  absolutely  staggered  at  the  degrading  epithet  of 
fiost/wati  being  applied  to  ?>. philomath.  The  showman  con- 
tinued : 

"  Sure,  if  you  worn't  an  owld  bogie,  you'd  see  that  the 
pig  was  pointin'  out  to  you  the  fifth  quarther  o'  the  world ; 
but  the  fact  is,  you  don't  know  that  there  is  sitch  a  thing 
as  the  fifth  quarther  ;  but,"  said  he,  making  a  flourishing 
appeal  to  his  audience,  "ladies  and  gintlemin,  you  see 
the  baste  has  pointed  out  to  your  comprehenshin  the  fifth 
quarther  of  the  terrestorial  globe,  which  is  the  North 
Pole  !  " 

Pheliir   uttered  an  indignant  "  Oh  !  "  but  his  exclamj^ 


154  RORY  O'MORE. 

tion  was  drowned  in  the  vociferous  plaudits  of  the   mulk- 
tilde. 

"Lave  the  place!  lave  the  place  ?"  said  Phelim  to  De 
Lacy,  bursting  with  rage,  but  De  Lacy  did  not  like  to 
lose  the  fun,  and  thought  Phelim  more  diverting  than  the 

pig- 

"Stay,"   said   De  Lacy;  "you'll  expose  his   ignoranca 

yet." 

Thus  tempted,  Phelim  remained,  maintaining  a  sulky 
silence,  and  watching  for  an  opportunity  of  annihilating 
the  pig  and  the  showman. 

The  fellow  put  his  pig  through  some  alphabetical  ma* 
noeuvres  upon  the  same  principle  that  the  quarters  of  th« 
globe  had  been  pointed  out,  though  the  trick  was  unper- 
ceived  by  the  spectators,  who  still  continued  to  be  dfli* 
lighted. 

"  Now,  ladies  and  gintlemin,"  said  the  proprietor  of  th« 
pig,  "  this  divartin'  baste  will  go  through  his  alphib't 
backwars." 

"  May  be  he  could  say  the  Lord's  Prayer  backwards  ?  ** 
said  Phelim,  wishing  to  be  severe. 

"  That  would  rise  the  d 1,  as  every  fool  knows,"  said 

the  showman,  "and  that  would  not  be  agreeable  to  the 
company  ;  otherwise  he  could  do  it  aisy." 

"  Hurrup,  Solomon  !  "  continued  he,  addressing  the  pig 
("  He  is  called  Solomon,  ladies,  he  is  so  wise ") ;  "go 
through  your  alphibit  backwars." 

Upon  this  the  pig  made  a  retrograde  movement  round 
the  circle,  the  showman  exclaiming  when  he  had  finished, 
"  That's  doin'  it  backwards,  I  think  !  " 

The  people  were  tickled  with  the  quibble  ;  but  Phelim 
said,  "That's  only  a  thrick." 

"  Well,  it's  my  thrick,  anyhow,"  said  the  showman,  with 
readiness.     "You  haven't  won  a  thrick  yet." 

Phelim  was  floored  again.  By  a  similar  quibble  theani- 
mal  went  through  his  multiplication  table.  A  board,  with 
a  multiplication  table  upon  it,  had  a  swinging  door  hung 
in  the  middle  ;  and  this  being  placed  before  the  pig,  he 
walked  through  it. 

Some  of  the  spectators  asked  to  see  the  pig  "  smoke  ta- 
bakky,"  as  one  of  the  things  promised. 

"  He  would  with  pleasure,  ladies,  but  he  bruk  his  pipe 
in  the  last  exhibishin,  and  there  is  not  one  convaynient," 
was  the  answer  ;  "  but,  what  is  much  more  curious,  he  wiU 
answer  conundherums.     Tell  me,  sir,"  said  he,  addressing 


RORY   O'MORE.  \r( 


->: 


the  pig,  "what  does  the  ladies  say  when  they  are  angry 
with  their  husbands  ?  " 

Tlie  pig  grunted  furiously.  This  was  the  triumph  of  tlie 
day  ;  the  men  laughed  outrageously,  and  even  the  women 
could  not  help  joining  ;  and  a  jolly-looking  fellow  in  front 
cried  out : 

"  By  the  powers,  Molly,  that's  as  like  you  as  two  pays  I  " 
Another  shout  followed  this  sally. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  the  showman,  "  what  does  the  girls  say 
when  the  boys  is  coaxin'  them  ?  " 

The  pig  gave  a  prolonged  squeal. 

It  was  now  ihe  young  men's  turn  to  laugh,  and  many  a 
pinched  elbow  of  a  pretty  girl,  at  the  moment,  caused  a 
chorus  to  the  pig's  squeal.  This  was  the  finale  ;  the  pig 
retired  amidst  the  plaudits  of  "  an  admiring  audience," 
who  made  their  exit  down  the  step-ladder,  to  give  place  to 
others  who  were  waiting  to  go  up.  Phelim  was  silent  for 
some  time  after  he  left  the  booth,  but  at  last  broke  out 
with,  "  That  fellow's  a  humbugger  !  " 

"  That's  his  business,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  and  therefore  vou 
can't  give  him  higher  praise  than  to  say  he  is  a  humbug- 
ger." 

"  And  that  is  what  you  call  praise  ? "  said  Phelim  in  of- 
fended wonder,  for  he  thought  De  Lacy  would  have  sided 
with  his  wounded  dignity. 

"Certainly,"  said  De  Lacy.     "Every  man  to  his  calling." 

"  But  is  ic  respectable  to  be  humbuggin'  people  ?  " 

"Oh,  that's  quite  another  question,  Phelim  ;  I'll  say 
nothing  for  the  respectability  ;  but  didn't  you  perceive  the 
trick  by  which  he  makes  the  pig  point  out  any  letter  or 
part  of  the  world  he's  desired  ? " 

"  Not  I— how  could  I  ?  " 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you.  You  perceived  there  were  holes 
cut  round  the  circular  platform,  and  that  a  card  was 
always  laid  over  a  hole  ? " 

"  Yis,  I  did,"  said  Phelim. 

"Well,  you  perceived  also,  that  whenever  the  pig  did  a 
trick  effectively,  his  master  gave  him  an  acorn  ?" 

"  He  gave  him  something,  but  I  didn't  know  it  was  an 
acorn." 

"You  know  this  is  the  time  of  their  falling,  and  there 
is  nothing  of  which  pigs  are  so  fond." 

"  And  do  you  mane  to  say,  sir,  that  if  you  feed  a  pig  on 
acorns,  you'll  tache  him  to  spell  and  larn  him  jography?" 

''  No,"  said  De  Lacy,  smiling.  ''  but  I  mean  that  an  accvr 


156  RORY   O'MORE. 

was  tljc  pig's  reward  ;  but  he  would  not  have  got  the  reward 
if  he  had   not  found  out  the  acorns.      Do  you  see  the  trick 

410W  ?  " 

"  Why,  this,  indeed,  to  say  the  thruth,  I  only  persaive  it 
afther  a  manner  like — that  is,  not  complate." 

"  Well,  I'll  show  it  to  you  complate,  then,"  said  De  Lacy, 
who  enjoyed  the  hesitation  that  Phelim  evinced  to  ac- 
knowledge that  the  showman's  trick  was  beyond  him. 

"  You  saw  every  card  was  placed  over  a  hole  ?  " 

"  Yis." 

"  And  that  when  the  pig  came  to  the  right  card,  he  be- 
gan to  poke  it  with  his  snout  ? " 

"Yis." 

"  And  can't  you  guess  why  ? " 

"No." 

"  It  was  because  his  master  had  a  plate  of  acorns  attached 
to  a  stick  which  he  always  placed  under  the  hole  the  card 
was  over  ;  and  so  the  pig  went  smelling  round  the  circle  till 
he  came  to  the  acorns." 

"  Tare  an  ouns  !  what  a  chate  !  "  said  Phelim  . 

"  If  the  pig  made  a  mistake,  he  got  no  acorn  ;  when  he 
iound  out  the  right  hole,  he  was  rewarded." 

"  Oh,  the  vagabone  !  to  make  the  people  think  that  a  pig 
could  be  taught  to  know  his  letthers,  and  jography,  and, 
afther  all,  it's  only  the  nathur  of  the  brute  baste  is  in  it ! " 

"And  did  you  expect  any  more  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,"  said  the  poor,  simple  Phelim  ;  "  and 
what's  worse,  the  people  will  b'lieve  it,  and  they'll  say  1 
can't  do  as  much  with  a  Christian  child  as  that  vagabone 
can  with  a  pig.  Why,  it's  enough  to  ruin  all  the  school- 
masthers  in  Ireland  !     I'll  go  back  and  expose  the  villain." 

"  No,  no,  Phelim,  you  wouldn't  do  that  ! " 

"Why  wouldn't  I?  Isn't  it  a  common  forgery  on  peo- 
ple's undherstan'in's  ?"  And  De  Lacy  was  olbliged  to  lay 
his  hand  on  the  indignant  philomath's  arm  to  restrain  him. 

"  Phelim,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  you  don't  know  but  that  poor 
fellow  has  a  wife  and  child  to  support ;  and  if  his  humbug- 
ging, as  you  call  it,  is  turned  into  bread  and  milk  for  his 
little  ones,  you  wovildn't  be  the  cause  of  making  them  feel 
hunger  ? " 

"  God  forbid,  sir  !  "  said  Phelim,  feelingly,  his  pride  giv- 
ing place  to  his  humanity.  "Bread  and  milk,  indeed  !  Oh, 
thin,  if  it's  but  potatoes  and  salt  he  can  airn  in  such  a  good 
cause,  may  the  Lord  prosper  him  I " 

It  is  time  to  return  to  Rory  and  his  party,  whom  we  left 


RORY   O'MORE.  157 

looking  for  their  dinner.  But  to  obtain  this,  thej  found  no 
such  easy  matter.  They  inquired  at  various  booths  with« 
out  success,  for  the  day  was  farther  spent  than  they  imag- 
ined, and  the  viands  consumed. 

Rory  had  been  so  absorbed  between  anxiety  on  account 
of  Kathleen  and  wonder  at  De  Welskein's  protean  powers, 
that  the  day  had  passed  over  without  his  being  conscious 
of  it  ;  and  the  various  shows  kept  the  attention  of  Conolly 
and  Mary  so  much  on  the  stretch,  that  they  were  equally 
unmindful  of  the  flight  of  time,  and,  as  Mary  herself  said, 
"  Faith,  the  day  went  over  like  an  hour  a'most." 

They  sought  the  longintrenchment  of  sunken  fires  over 
which  pots  full  of  beef  and  cabbage  had  been  "busy  bilin'  " 
when  last  they  passed  that  way.  The  fires  were  there,  'tis 
true,  and  so  were  the  pots,  but  no  beef  and  cabbage  ;  the 
solids  had  been  demolished,  and  the  huge  iron  pots  had 
given  place  to  kettles,  where  water  was  "  kept  continuall)'' 
bilin*  "  for  the  manufacture  of  punch.  What  was  to  be 
done  ?  At  this  hour  dinner  was  manifestly  a  scarce  thing, 
which  fact  increased  their  appetites  ;  and  Rory  himself,  in 
spite  of  love  and  Kathleen,  began  to  feel  the  inward  man 
making  appeals  to  his  common-sense.  While  things  were 
in  this  state,  Rory  saw  a  brace  of  ducks  dangling  from  a 
string,  roasting  before  a  fire  at  the  end  of  one  of  the 
booths,  and  a  girl  very  busy  attending  the  culinary  process. 
Rory's  invention  was  immediately  at  work  ;  and  his  love  of 
fun,  joined  to  his  desire  for  dinner,  at  once  suggested  the 
notion  of  his  making  himself  master  of  the  ducks. 

So,  desiring  Conolly  and  his  sister  to  secure  a  seat  as 
near  as  they  could  to  where  the  birds  were  in  preparation, 
he  spoke  to  the  landlady  of  the  booth,  and  asked  could  they 
have  dinner  ? 

She  said  they  had  nothing  but  a  little  cold  beef. 

"  Well,  that  same,"  said  Rory. 

So  plates  were  laid,  and  knives  and  forks  provided,  and 
the  half-warm  and  ragged  remains  of  some  very  bad  beef 
were  placed  before  Rory  and  his  party. 

"  That'll  do,"  said  Rory,  who,  having  thus  contrived  to 
get  the  plates,  etc.,  set  about  securing  the  ducks.  Feigning 
an  excuse,  he  said  to  his  party,  "Don't  begin  till  Jack 
comes  to  us  ;  he'll  be  here  by  an'  by,"  and  then  turning  to 
the  girl  who  was  cooking  the  ducks,  he  kept  up  a  conver- 
sation with  her,  and  made  her  laugh  so  often  that  he  got 
into  her  good  graces,  and  she  fancied  him  tlie  pleasantest 
fellow  in  the  world.     At  last  Rory,  when  he  thought  the 


158  RORY   O'MORE. 

birds  were  nearly  done,  said  to  her,  seeing  that  her  face 
was  very  dewy  from  her  occupation  : 

"  I  believe  it's  roasting  thim  ducks  you  are  ?  " 

"  'Faith,  it's  thim  that's  roasting  me,  you  mane  ?  "  said  the 
girl. 

"It's  dhry  work,  I'm  thinkin',"  said  Rory. 

"  Thrue  for  you,"  said  the  girl,  "  and  no  one  to  offer  me 
a  dhrink." 

"  Suppose  I'd  give  you  a  dhrink  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  Long  life  to  you  !  "  said  the  girl,  looking  up  at  him,  and 
wiping  down  her  face  with  a  back  stroke  of  her  red  hand. 

"  Well,  you  must  do  something  for  me,"  said  Rory,  "and 
I'll  give  you  a  pot  o'  portlier." 

"  God  bless  you  !  "  said  the  girl. 

"  Jist  run  down  to  Tim  Donoughue's  stan'in' — it's  at  the 
far  end  of  the  sthreet — and  get  me  a  ha'p'orth  of  snuff,  for 
I'm  lost  with  a  cowld  in  my  head  that  T  got  through  a  hole 
in  my  hat." 

"  Go  'long  wid  you  !  "  said  the  girl,  giving  the  ducks  a 
twirl. 

"  It's  truth  I'm  tellin'  you,"  said  Rory. 

"  Oh  !  I  darn't  lave  the  ducks,"  said  she. 

"Oh!"  said  Rory,  in  an  insinuating  tone,  "jist  slip  out 
here  through  the  slit  in  the  tint,  and  I'll  take  charge  o' 
them  till  ye  come  back.  Here's  a  hog  for  you,  and  you  may 
keep  the  change  for  yourself." 

The  "  hog  "  was  too  much  for  the  girl's  prudence  ;  so  off 
she  started  to  Tim  Donoughue's  ;  and  she  wasn't  ten  steps 
from  the  place  when  Rory  had  the  pair  of  ducks  on  the 
dish  before  his  party,  and,  as  Rory  himself  said  in  telling 
the  story  after,  "  the  sorrow  long  they  vvor  in  making  jom- 
methry  of  the  same  ducks." 

When  the  girl  came  back  and  saw  the  skeletons  of  the 
birds  she  had  left  in  tempting  plumpness  before  the  fire, 
she,  in  the  language  of  Conolly,  "  screeched  a  thousand 
murdhers,  and  riz  the  tint." 

"  Oh  !  the  ducks,  the  ducks  !"  cried  the  girl. 

"  Oh  !  you  baggage,  are  they  spylte  ? "  said  Mrs.  Mol- 
loy,  the  landlady,  rushing  to  the  spot  on  hearing  the  up- 
roar. 

"  No,  indeed,  ma'am,"  said  Rory,  very  quietly,  picking 
the  bones  of  one  of  them  at  the  same  time  ;  "they  are  not 
spylte,  for  they  avor  as  fine  ducks  as  ever  I  put  a  tooth  in." 

"  Oh,  God  be  good  to  me ! "  said  the  woman,  with  a  look 
of  despair  ;  "  is  it  aiting  Mr.  Regan's  wild  ducks  you  are  ? '' 


RORY  O'MORE.  \tfy 

Now  this  "took  Rory  aback,"  as  the  sailors  say.  Ke 
would  rather  that  he  had  not  hit  upon  Regan's  ducks  for 
his  frolic  ;  but,  as  chance  had  so  ruled  it,  he  determined 
to  follow  up  his  joke  ;  so  he  answered  : 

"  In  troth,  ma'am,  I  didn't  know  whose  ducks  they  wor  ; 
and  as  for  their  being  ivild,  I  never  found  it  out  ;  and 'pon 
my  conscience,  I  think  they  are  a'most  as  good  as  if  they 
Avor  tame." 

■'  But  they  wor  Mr.  Regan's  ducks  !  " 

"  I  didn't  know  that,  ma'am  ;  I  supposed  they  wor 
yoars  ;  and  when  I  kem  to  your  tint  for  enthertainment,  I 
thought  I  had  a  risfht  to  whatever  ateables  was  in  it,  as 
well  as  another." 

•'  Oh  !  what'll  Mr.  Regan  say  ?" 

•'  He'll  say  what  he  has  to  say  for  himself,"  said  Regan, 
who  on  hearing  that  his  ducks  had  been  taken  by  Rory 
O'More,  became  exceedingly  wroth,  and  swaggered  up  to 
tho  scene  of  action.  On  his  arrival  there,  he  saw  Conolly 
sitting  beside  Mary  O'More,  and  this,  as  Rory  said,  when 
sp^^aking  of  the  affair  after,  "roused  the  divil  in  him  ; "  so, 
changing  his  attack,  which  was  intended  for  Rory,  upon 
Conolly" he  said,  addressing  the  latter  in  a  menacing  tone  : 

"  How  dar  you  take  }ny  ducks  ?  " 

Conolly  was  in  the  act  of  rising,  when  Rory  laid  his 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  said,  "  Sit  down— this  is  no  af- 
fair of  yours." 

in  doing  this,  Rory  was  actuated  by  a  double  motive. 
In  the  first  place,  had  the  quarrel  been  established  be- 
tween Conolly  and  Regan,  he  knew  that  his  sister's  name 
would  be  mixed  up  Vv-ith  it,  and  his  intuitive  sense  of  deli- 
,cacy  recoiled  at  the  thought  of  Mary's  name  being  con- 
nected with  a  brawl  at  a  fair  ;  secondly,  in  point  of  fact,  he 
was  the  person  who  had  committed  the  act  complained  of 
— and  Rory  was  not  the  man  to  let  another  fight  his  bat- 
tle.    So,  turning  to  Regan,  he  said  : 

•'It  was  I  tuk  the  ducks,  Shan — Conolly  had  nothing  to 
do  with  it  ;  and  if  I  have  disappointed  you  of  your  din- 
ner, I'm  sorry  for  it — and  I  hope  that's  satisfaction  enough. 
And  for  you,  Mrs.  MoUoy,  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  tuk  what 
I  had  no  right  to,  and  all  I  can  do  is  to  pay  you  for  the 
ducks." 

And  he  offered  her  his  hand  full  of  silver  to  take  the 
price  from. 

"  Take  your  money  out  o'  that,"  said  Regan,  fiercely  ac- 
eompanyinp;  the  words  with  a  shove  that  scatttered  Rory  s 


i6o  RORY  O'MORE. 

shillings  over  the  table  and  the  ground.  "  The  ducks 
were  not  Mrs.  Molloy's  ducks,  but  mine,  and  I  don't  want 
to  be  paid  for  wkat  I  didn't  intend  to  sell  ;  and  all  I've  to 
say  is,  that  I  recommend  you  not  to  make  away  with  any- 
thing belonging  to  me  for  the  future." 

There  was  emphasis  on  '■'■belonging  to  me  "  that  Rory  felt 
was  meant  to  allude  to  Kathleen  ;  but  that  was  not  so  of- 
fensive as  the  phrase  "  make  away  " — which,  being  a  com- 
mon form  of  parlance  in  Ireland  for  anything  that  is  ille- 
gally taken,  roused  Rory's  indignation. 

"  Regan,"  said  he,  "  what  I  did,  I  did  in  a  joke  ;  and  I 
have  said  in  good  temper,  and  with  a  hope  of  making 
friends,  all  that  ought  to  satisfy  a  man  that  wished  to  be  a 
friend  ;  and  if  afther  that  you  wish  to  make  a  quarrel  of  it, 
and  mane  to  throw  an  affront  on  me,  I  tell  you,  Regan,  it's 
what  I  won't  take  from  you." 

"  I  wish  you  had  been  as  particular  about  my  ducks," 
said  Regan,  walking  off. 

"If  I  tuk  your  ducks,  Regan,  I  won't  take  your  impi.^ 
dince,"  said  Rory,  disengaging  himself  from  behind  tha 
table. 

Mary  attempted  to  stop  him,  but  Conolly  prevented  her, 
knowing  the  fatal  consequences  of  a  man  being  hampered 
with  a  woman  in  a  fray.  "  The  best  thing  you  can  do," 
said  he,  "  is  to  lave  his  hands  loose,  for  he'll  have  need  o' 
them  soon."  Then  handing  over  Mary  to  the  care  of  an 
elderly  man,  he  said,  "Jist  take  care  o'  the  colleen  while  I 
see  fair  play  ; "  and  he  was  at  Rory's  side  in  an  instant. 

There  was  no  time  to  spare,  for  Regan  turned  round  at 
Rory's  last  word  and  said,  "  Did  you  say  itnpidince  to  me  ? " 

"  1  did,"  said  Rory. 

The  words  were  no  sooner  uttered  than  Regan  made  a 
tremendous  blow  at  him  ;  but  rage  and  liquor  (for  he  had 
been  drinking)  had  deprived  him  of  his  usual  power  in 
such  matters,  and  Rory  easily  warded  his  blow,  returning 
one  so  well  planted  that  Regan  measured  his  length  on  the 
floor  of  the  booth. 

He  rose  again,  and  two  or  three  of  his  cronies  rallied 
round  him,  while  Conolly  and  the  lovers  of  fair  play  saw 
that  nothing  foul  should  befall  Rory. 

From  the  fury  and  intoxication  of  Regan,  the  fight  was 
a  short  one.  After  his  first  fall,  Rory  requested  that  his 
opponent's  friends  would  "take  him  away,  as  he  wasn't  fit 
to  fight  ;  "  but  this  only  increased  Regan's  rage,  and  he 
rushed  again  upon  his  man.     But  it  was  an  easy  conquest 


RORY  O'MORE.  i6i 

for  Rory,  though  Regan  was  superior  in  years  and 
strength  ;  and  the  end  of  the  affair  was,  as  Conolly  and 
Rory's  friends  spread  far  and  wide  over  the  country  in  re- 
lating the  affair,  "  That  Rory  O'More  gave  Regan  the 
length  and  breadth  of  as  fine  a  licking  as  ever  he  got  in 
his  life." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  Moonlight  Meeting ;  with  One  too  Many. 

From  the  presence  of  the  military  at  the  fair,  and  the 
existence  of  the  curfew-law  at  the  period,  it  became  doubly 
necessary  that  the  people  assembled  should  disperse  in 
good  time,  and  take  their  homeward  way. 

De  Lacy  particularly  felt  the  necessity  of  this,  for,  cir- 
cumstanced as  he  was,  to  have  put  himself  within  reach  of 
military  law  would  have  been  madness  ;  so  he  and  Phelim 
left  the  fair  much  earlier  than  Rory  and  his  party,  for 
the  "  small  scrimmage  "  after  dinner  had  occasioned  some 
delay.  It  is  not  immediately  after  a  man  has  *'  settled  the 
hash  "  of  his  enemy,  that  he  can  coolly  take  up  his  hat 
(that  is,  if  he  has  the  good  luck  not  to  have  lost  it  in  the 
fight)  and  pay  his  tavern  bill  and  depart  in  peace.  The 
decencies  of  social  life  must  be  observed  ;  he  must  adjust 
his  ruffled  attire,  sit  down  to  show  his  presence  of  mind, 
and  take  a  drink  to  quench  his  thirst — for  fighting  is 
thirsty  work.  Then,  as  in  the  case  of  Rory,  one  must  not 
be  so  uncivil  as  to  turn  one's  back  on  the  congratulations 
of  one's  friends  ;  and  there  were  many  who  congratulated 
Rory,  for  Regan  was  a  quarrelsome  fellow,  and,  what  in 
fighting  parlance,  is  called  a  "  troublesome  customer  ; "  and 
such  a  man  to  get  a  thrashing  where  it  was  least  expected, 
excited  great  satisfaction,  and  numerous  were  the  shaking 
of  hands,  slaps  on  the  shoulder,  and  exclamations  of  ad- 
miration, that  Rory  had  bestowed  upon  him,  and  several 
fresh  tumblers  were  called  for  to  drink  "  his  health,  and 
more  potver  to  his  elbow. '^ 

"  Long  life  to  you,  your  sowl !  "  was  said  to  him  on  all 
sides — "  Musha  health  and  power  to  you,  Rory,  my  boy  ! 
but  you  done  the  thing  complate.  Divil  a  purtier  bit 
o'  fight  myself  seen  this  many  a  day.  Och  !  but  you  have 
the  owld  blood  o'  the  O'Mores  in  you,  ma  bouchal." 

When   he  could  escape  from  the  congratulations  of  his 


152  RORY  O'AWRE. 

friends,  Rory,  with  his  sister  and  Conoll}',  made  the  best 
of  their  way  liome.  There  was  not  much  said  on  the  way. 
Mary  saw  that  jealousy  on  Regan's  part  had  been  the  real 
cause  of  his  savage  conduct,  and  therefore,  with  a  woman'? 
tact,  she  wished  the  subject  of  the  quarrel  to  be  as  little 
discussed  as  possible.  This  partly  influenced  Rory,  too  , 
but  with  him  there  was  a  more  powerful  cause  of  silence. 
The  events  of  the  day  were  recalled,  one  by  one,  to  his 
memory  ;  and  when  he  remembered  all  that  had  passed 
between  him  and  Kathleen,  he  more  and  more  regretted 
his  fight  with  her  brother,  and  feared  it  might  prove  an 
additional  obstacle  to  the  course  of  his  "true  love,"  which 
did  not  seem  to  be  a  bit  more  likely  to  run  smoother  than 
it  was  wont  to  do  in  Shakespeare's  days,  and  so  he  trudged 
on  in  silence,  anticipating  the  appointed  meeting  of  the 
morrow,  and  thinking  on  all  he  should  say  to  his  Kathleen 
to  assure  her  of  his  truth. 

Conolly  guessed  the  cause  of  Mary's  silence  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Rory's  misdemeanor,  and  he  had  too  much  wit  about 
him  not  to  know  that  the  expression  of  triumph  at  the  de- 
feat of  a  rival,  in  the  hearing  of  the  woman  for  whom  the 
rivalry  existed,  would  only  lower  him  in  her  opinion. 

Thus,  the  concluding  events  of  the  preceding  chapter, 
though  it  occupied  the  mind  of  each,  yet,  from  the  causes 
assigned,  all  by  common  consent  forbore  to  speak  of  it  ; 
therefore,  as  the  predominant  impression  on  their  mii«ds 
was  one  that  might  not  be  manifested  in  words,  they  pi*«"- 
sued  their  way  in  comparative  silence. 

The  moon  was  rising  when  the  party  reached  the  end  of 
the  boreen  that  led  to  O'More's  cottage,  and  there  ConoUy 
parted  company.  When  he  was  gone,  Rory  told  Mary  to 
say  nothing  to  his  mother  about  the  fight.  "'Twould  only 
trouble  her,"  said  he,  "and  there  would  be  no  use  of  it. 
Indeed,  we  won't  spake  of  it  at  all — even  to  Mr.  De  Lacy." 
I  "  I'd  rather  myself  it  was  so,"  said  Mary  ;  "  but  Rory, 
dear,  won't  the  mother  see  the  marks  on  you,  and  sus- 
pect?" 

"  Oh  !  I've  no  marks  on  me  that  she  can  know  of ;  the 
sulky  thief  never  put  the  sign  of  his  fist  in  my  face." 

"  Oh  !  but  I'm  glad  o'  that,  Rory  dear,"  said  Mary  ;  "  for 
it  looks  so  ugly  and  disrespectable  to  have  the  marks  of 
fightm'  on  a  man's  face." 

"  Well,  sure,  I  couldn't  help  it  if  I  had  itself.  You  know, 
Mary,  'twasn't  my  fault." 

"No,  in  throth,  Rory  }  and  sure  my  heart  sunk  within 


RORY  O'lVlORE.  163 

me  when  I  seen  you  stand  up,  for  I  dhreaded  that  horrid 
fellow  was  more  than  your  match  ;  and  sure  'twas  brave 
and  bowld  o'  you,  Rory,  machree,  to  put  yourself  forninst 
him." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  him,  the  best  day  he  ever  stept,"  said 
Rory  ;  "  but  as  for  to-day,  he  was  too  full  o'  drink  to  give 
me  any  trouble,  and  it  went  again  my  heart  to  sthreck  a 
man  that  is  in  liquor,  only  you  see  yourself  he  would  have 
it." 

*'  Throth,  Rory,  you've  nothing  to  blame  yourself  with," 
said  Mary  ;  "you  showed  the  hoighth  o'  good  temper." 

Having  reached  the  house,  their  conversation  ended. 
They  found  De  Lacy  and  Phelim  at  supper,  which  Rory 
and  Mary  helped  to  finish  ;  and  after  a  desultory  conversa- 
tion about  the  "humors  of  the  fair,"  to  give  the  widow 
some  idea  of  their  day's  amusement,  they  separated  for  the 
night. 

It  was  a  night  of  repose  to  all  under  the  widow's  roof 
except  Rory.  The  excitement  of  the  day,  and  his  anxious 
anticipation  of  the  morrow,  banished  slumber,  and  he  rose 
at  an  early  hour  the  following  morning,  unrefreshed  and 
feverish.  He  appealed  to  that  unfailing  friend  of  a  hot 
head — namely,  spring  water — and  by  a  plentiful  deluge 
from  the  well,  he  made  himself  as  comfortable  as  he  could 
during  the  day  that  to  him  seemed  interminable.  At  length 
evening  arrived,  and  Rory  hastened  to  the  appointed  place, 
where  he  hoped  to  meet  Kathleen,  and  clear  himself  from 
the  charges  which  had  been  made  against  him. 

The  place  he  named  for  their  rendezvous  was  a  rath, 
near  a  bridge  which  crossed  the  river  about  half  way  be- 
tween their  respective  residences.  Rath  is  the  name  given 
in  Ireland  to  certain  large  circular  mounds  of  earth,  by 
some  called  Danish  forts.  They  were  intended  for  pur- 
poses of  defence,  there  is  no  doubt  ;  but  they  were  more 
likely  the  works  of  the  ancient  Irish  than  the  Danes. 

The  rath  which  Rory  named  stood  near  the  bank  of  the 
river,  and  probably  was  intended  to  defend  the  passage  of 
the  stream,  which  in  later  days  had  been  traversed  by  a 
bridge  of  low  small  arches,  such  as  remain  in  great  num- 
bers in  Ireland  to  this  day,  and  present  specimens  of  early 
architecture  more  curious,  perhaps,  than  anything  else  in 
the  same  way  remaining  in  Europe.  To  the  inexperienced 
stranger  it  would  appear  that  a  great  deal  of  masonry  had 
been  thrown  away  on  the  bridge  in  question,  for  there 
were  many  arches  quite  dry  at  some  seasons  ;  but  by  those 


t64  RORY  O'MORE. 

who  know  how  rapidly  the  streams  in  the  vicinity  of  hills 
expand  after  heavy  rains,  the  knowledge  of  our  forefathers 
in  thus  providing  against  such  an  exigency  can  be  ap- 
preciated. 

Rory  arrived  at  the  place  of  appointment  earlier  than 
Kathleen,  of  course — there  needs  no  master  of  the  cere- 
monies to  tell  that  a  lady  must  not  be  kept  waiting  on 
such  occasions.  But  as  time  wore  on,  he  began  to  feel 
impatient  ;  and  then  he  ascended  the  rath,  and  looked  from 
its  summit  in  the  direction  he  expected  Kathleen  to  ap- 
proach. Here  he  lingered  in  hope,  till  evening  was  clos- 
ing, and  the  yellow  disk  of  the  moon  began  to  rise  above 
the  broad  belt  of  clouds  which  skirted  the  horizon  ;  then 
he  began  to  feel  Kathleen  had  promised  him,  only  to  be 
rid  of  his  importunity — or  that  some  fresh  influence  had 
been  exercised  against  him — -or  that  she  believed  the 
calumny  ;  which  was  worst  of  all.  And  so  great  was  his 
anxiety  to  remove  such  a  fatal  impression  from  Kathleen's 
mind,  that  even  in  defiance  of  all  reasonable  expectation 
of  seeing  her,  he  remained  on  the  rath  and  strained  his 
sight,  through  the  increasing  gloom,  to  catch  the  first 
glimpse  of  her  he  wished  so  much  to  meet.  Still,  she 
came  not  ;  and  now  the  moon,  emerging  from  the  vapor 
by  which  she  had  been  enshrouded,  rose  above  it  in  all 
her  purity,  no  longer  dimmed  by  the  yellow  mist  which 
had  tarnished  her  silvery  brightness.  Still  Rory  remained, 
although  he  had  given  up  the 

"  Last  pale  hope  that  trembled  at  his  heart." 

But  as  the  moonlight  became  so  bright,  and  as  he  knew 
the  danger  of  being  abroad  at  such  an  hour,  he  crouched 
in  the  trench  on  the  summit  of  the  rath,  and  watched  with 
his  eyes  above  the  embankment. 

He  had  just  arrived  at  the  conclusion,  in  his  own  mind, 
it  was  no  use  to  wait  any  longer,  when  he  fancied  he 
caught  the  outline  of  a  figure  moving  toward  him — it  be- 
came more  distinct — it  was  a  woman's  ;  a  moment  more, 
and  his  heart  told  him  it  was  Kathleen. 

He  sprung  to  his  feet,  and  running  down  the  rath,  he 
reached  the  ditch  that  boarded  the  field  in  time  to  offer 
his  hand  to  Kathleen,  and  assist  her  over  the  fence. 

They  stood  in  the  bright  moonlight  ;  and  Rory  could 
see  that  an  aspect  of  care  was  over  Kathleen's  brow,  which 
even  his  fervent  welcome,  and  thanks,  and  blessings,  could 
not  dispel. 


RORY  O'MORE.  165 

*'  Let  us  get  under  the  shadow  of  the  bridge,"  said 
Rory. 

"No,"  said  Kathleen,  with  an  air  of  reserve. 

"  Don't  let  us  stand  here,  however,"  said  Rory,  "  so  near 
the  road,  and  the  moon  so  bright." 

"We  can  stand  inside  the  rail,"  said  Kathleen,  leading 
the  way. 

They  soon  stood  in  the  trench  of  the  fort,  completely 
shadowed  by  the  embankment,  while  the  moonlight  fell 
so  brightly  on  the  mound  that  rose  within. 

"God  bless  you,  Kathleen,  for  keeping  your  promise," 
said  Rory,  fervently. 

"Whatever  you've  to  say,  say  quickly,  Rory,  for  I  must 
not  stay  here  long,"  replied  Kathleen. 

"Then  tell  me  openly,  Kathleen,  what  is  it  you  think 
you  have  to  accuse  me  of,  and  I  will  explain  it  all  to  your 
satisfaction." 

"You  left  home  for  a  day  about  three  weeks  ago  ?"  said 
Kathleen. 

"  I  did,"  said  Rory. 

"  You  went  to  the  town  beyant  ?  " 

*'  I  did,"  said  Rory. 

**  You  were  in  the  cellar  there  ?" 

"  I  was." 

"And  not  in  the  best  of  company,  Rory,"  said  Kath' 
leen,  reproachfully. 

"  Worse  than  I  hope  I'll  ever  be  in  again,"  said  Rory. 

"You  own  to  that,  thin  ? " 

"  I'll  own  to  all  that's  thrue,"  said  Rory. 

"  Thin  what  have  you  got  to  say  about  the  girl  you 
were  so  much  in  love  with  ?" 

"In  love  with?"  said  Rory,  indignantly.  "Kathleen, 
there  is  but  one  girl  on  this  earth  I  love,  and  that's  your- 
self.    I  swear  it  by  this  blessed  light !  " 

Just  as  he  spoke,  as  if  the  light  which  he  adjured  had 
evoked  a  spirit  to  condemn  him,  a  dark  shadow  was  cast 
on  the  mound  before  them  ;  and,  on  their  both  looking 
round,  a  figure  enveloped  in  a  cloak  stood  on  the  embank- 
ment behind  them.  Kathleen  could  not  suppress  a  scream 
and  even  Rory  started. 

"  Is  that  what  I  hear  you  say  ? "  said  this  mysterious  ap- 
parition.    "  Kathleen  !  Kathleen  !  he  said  the  same  tome." 

Kathleen  could  not  speak  but  stood  with  clasped  hands 
in  trembling  astonishment,  gazing  with  the  fascination  of 
fear  upon  the  figure  that  stood  on  the  bank  above  them. 


i66  JiORY  O'MORB- 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  said  Rory.  '^hg  figure  was  about  to 
turn,  when  Rory  caught  hold  of  the.  cloak  in  which  it  was 
enveloped,  and  dragged  the  inf^uder  within  the  trench  of 
the  rath. 

"Who  are  you?"  said  Rorv  again,  turning  round  the 
person  to  face  the  light. 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Rorv  O'More  ?"  said  the  unknown, 
who  threw  back  the  hood  of  her  cloak  at  the  words,  and 
the  pale  moonbeam  fell  on  the  face  of  the  frail  one  of 
the  cellar. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

Containiiag  a  Council  of  Love  and  a  Council  of  War. 

To  account  for  the  occurrence  which  concludes  the  fore- 
going chapter,  it  becomes  necessar)^  to  revert  to  Kathleen 
after  her  jeturn  from  the  fair.  She  had  spent  as  restless  a 
night  as  Rory,  and,  after  considering  for  a  long  time  the 
fitness  of  meeting  him  clandestinely,  after  all  she  had 
heard,  was  still  at  a  loss  how  to  act  ;  she  determined 
therefore  to  tell  her  mother  how  matters  stood,  and  ask 
her  advice.  Between  the  daughter  and  mother  affection 
and  good  understanding  had  always  existed  ;  but  of  late 
there  had  been  an  increasing  confidence  in,  and  leaning 
toward,  each  other,  resulting  from  the  unruly  conduct  of 
the  son,  against  whose  aggression  and  waywardness  Kath- 
leen and  her  mother  were  obliged  to  combine,  and  en- 
deavor by  union  in  the  weaker  party  to  make  a  better 
defence  against  the  tyranny  of  the  stronger. 

Regan  had  not  got  up  the  morning  succeeding  the  fair, 
in  consequence  of  the  punishment  he  had  received  from 
Rory,  and  was  lying  under  some  herbal  treatment  of  his 
mother's,  in  a  room  that  was  partitioned  off  the  principal 
apartment  of  the  farm-house,  which  served  not  only  for 
the  kitchen,  but  for  all  the  daily  purposes  of  the  family. 

Kathleen  had  just  come  from  her  brother's  room,  whith- 
er she  had  gone  to  offer  any  attendance  he  might  require, 
and  gently  closed  the  door  after  her,  thinking  that  he  had 
f-ftllen  asleep,  while  in  fact  he  had  only  indulged  in  a 
dogged  silence  to  her  kind  inquiries,  and  feigned  slumber 
to  be  rid  of  her. 

Taking  advantage  of  this  opportunity,  Kathleen  drew  a 


RORY  O'MORE.  167 

seat  near  her  mother,  who  was  knitting,  and  settling  her. 
self  down  to  her  spinning-wheel,  she  began  to  work  very 
industriously  for  some  time  in  silence. 

The  hum  of  the  wheel  was  interrupted  in  a  minute  or 
two  by  a  short  cough  ;  and  as  Kathleen's  fingers  were  kept 
busy  and  her  eyes  fixed  upon  them,  so  that  she  need  not 
have  the  necessity  of  meeting  those  of  her  mother,  there 
could  not  be  a  more  favorable  moment  for  the  opening  of 
the  delicate  affair  she  had  in  hand  ;  and  so  after  one  or 
two  more  little  coughs,  she  ventured  to  say,  "  mother." 

It  may  be  remarked  that  when  people  have  any  delicate 
subject  to  discuss,  more  particularly  all  affairs  of  the  heart, 
there  is  something  in  the  mere  sound  of  tlieir  voices  that 
gives  you  to  understand  what  they  are  about  before  a  word 
relating  to  the  subject  is  said. 

Now,  Kathleen's  mother  was  as  wise  as  mothers  in  gen 
eral  are  about  such  matters,  seeing  that  they  have  had 
such  affairs  of  their  own  on  their  hands  ;  and  so,  the  very 
minute  Kathleen  said  "mother,"  that  respectable  indi- 
vidual knew  what  was  coming  just  as  well  as  if  she  were 
a  witch. 

"Well,  alannaV  said  the  mother  softly,  coaxing  heir 
child's  heart  out  of  its  secrecy  by  the  encouraging  tone  of 
her  voice,  as  a  bird  chirps  its  young  for  the  first  time  from 
the  security  of  the  nest. 

"There's  something  I  wish  to  tell  you,"  said  Kathleen. 

"Well,  darlin',  I  daar  say  it's  nothing  but  what  I'll  be 
glad  to  hear." 

"  I'm  afeard  you'll  think  me  foolish,  mother " 

"  Throth,  I  never  seen  the  sign  iv  a  fool  an  you  yet, 
alanna  bawn." 

Here  there  was  a  pause,  filled  up  only  by  the  buzz  of 
the  spinning-wheel.  The  mother  thought  she  had  best 
break  the  ice  ;  so,  with  a  tone  of  gentle  pleasantry  in  her 
manner,  to  deprive  the  subject  of  its  sternness — to  "  take 
the  cold  out  of  it,"  as  it  were— she  said,  "  I  suppose  some 
o'  the  boys  has  been  talkin'  to  you  ?" 

"  Yis,  ma'am,"  said  Kathleen,  faintly,  blushing  up  to  her 
ears  at  the  same  time,  while  the  wheel  went  round  at  a 
desperate  rate,  and  the  thread  was  broken. 

While  Kathleen  mended  the  thread  of  her  spinning,  her 
mother  took  up  that  of  the  conversation. 

"  Well,  dear — well  and  good — and  why  not  ?  Sure,  it's 
only  raysonable,  and  what's  before  us  all  in  our  time  when 
it's  God's  will.     And  who's  the  boy,  Kathleen  dear  ?" 


i68  RORY   O'MORE. 

Kathleen,  after  swallowing  her  breath  three  or  four  times, 
said,  "  Rory  O'More,  mother." 

"  Sure,  thin,  but  you're  the  happy  girl  !  God  bless  yoii, 
child,  and  mark  you  to  grace,  to  have  the  very  pick  o'  the 
counthry  axin'  you  !  " 

"  Indeed,  I  thought  so  myself,  mother,  but " 

"  But  what,  dear  ?  " 

*'  Why,  Shan,  you  know,  mother " 

"Yis,  yis,  dear;"  and  the  mother  sighed  heavily.  It 
was  some  time  before  she  could  resume  tlie  conversation, 
and  in  the  interim  she  raised  her  apron  to  dry  a  tear  that 
trickled  down  her  cheek.  How  deep  is  the  guilt  of  a 
child  who  causes  the  tears  of  a  parent  ! 

"If  Shan  couldn't  get  Mary  O'More  (and  more  is  his 
loss,  indeed  !)  that  is  no  rayson,  darlin',  that  you  wouldn't 
have  Rory." 

"  But  Shan  is  very  much  again  it,  mother." 

"  How  do  you  know,  dear  ?  " 

"  He  suspects  somehow,  that  I  had  a  liking  for  him." 

'■'■Had  a  liking  !  "  said  the  mother.  "  Why,  haven  t  you  a 
Uking,  Kathleen  ? " 

"Why  you  see,  mother,  he  towld  me  things  of  him,  and 
if  the  things  was  thrue,  Rory  wouldn't  be  as  good  as  I 
Ihought  him." 

"  How  do  you  mane,  darlin'  ? " 

Here  Kathleen  entered  into  an  explanation  of  how 
■^^egan  had  poisoned  her  mind  against  Rory,  and  told  her 
mother  all  she  had  heard  about  the  adventures  of  the 
rellar  ;  how,  subsequently,  she  had  met  Rory  at  the  fair 
— of  her  coolness,  of  his  disavowal  of  guilt,  and  request 
that  she  would  meet  him  to  explain  everything. 

"  He  said,  *  This  evening,  at  the  rath,  beside  the  bridge 


"  Whist !  "  said  the  mother,  pointing  to  Regan's  room  ; 
^''  he's  awake." 

And  so  he  was,  and  heard  the  principal  part  of  the 
conversation  between  his  mother  and  his  sister  ;  and  it  was 
in  raising  himself  in  the  bed,  the  better  to  catch  the  latter 
part  of  the  discourse,  that  he  had  alarmed  the  watchful 
ear  of  his  mother  ;  for  poor  Kathleen  was  so  absorbed  in 
her  subject,  that  she  quite  forgot  her  proximity  to  her 
brother. 

Regan  now  called  for  someone  to  attend  him  ;  and  on 
his  mother  appearing,  he  said  he  was  much  refreshed  bj 
Uie  last  sleep  he  had  and  would  jret  up. 


RORY  O'MORE.  ^3 

"  Indeed  you're  better  where  you  are,  Shan,  for  to-iiay," 
said  his  mother. 

"No,  no,  bed  kills  me  ;  it's  not  fit  for  a  man.  I'll  be  thb 
betther  for  some  fresh  air." 

"  Sure,  you  wouldn't  go  out,  Shan,  and  your  face  in  that 
condition  ? "  said  his  mother. 

"Thim  who  doesn't  like  my  face,"  said  he,  "needn't  look 
at  it  ;  "  and  despite  his  mother's  entreaties  he  proceeded  to 
dress  himself,  which,  when  he  had  accomplished,  he  sallietl 
forth. 

"Why,  thin,  where  can  Shan  be  goin'  ?"  said  Kathleen, 

"  Oh,  musha,  how  should  I  know,"  said  his  mother. 
"He's  never  aisy  at  home,  God  help  him  !" 

"Well,  mother,  what  do  you  think  about  my  goin'  to  the 
rath  ?  " 

"I  think  you'd  better  go  there,  darlin'  ;  I  don't  think 
myself  that  Rory  O'More  would  be  as  bad  as  you  wor 
made  to  b'lieve." 

"  Indeed,  mother,  it  was  agin'  my  heart  \  b'lieved  any- 
thing bad  of  him." 

"  To  be  sure,  darlin',  and  it's  only  fair  to  hear  what  the 
boy  has  to  say." 

"  Thin  you  think  I  may  go  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma  voiirneen  ;  but  in  case  evil  tongues  would  say 
anything,  I'll  go  along  wid  you." 

Kathleen,  after  some  hesitation,  said,  "  But  may  be  Rory 
would  be  shy  of  seeing  you,  mother  ?" 

"Sartinly,  dear,  and  I'll  only  go  along  with  you  convay- 
nient  to  the  rath.  I'll  stay  a  trifle  behind  you,  so  that  he 
won't  see  me  ;  but  at  the  same  time  I'll  be  near  enough,  so 
that  no  one  shall  have  the  occasion  to  say  a  light  word  o' 
you — for  there's  no  knowing  what  ill-natured  tongues  may 
invint." 

This  being  settled,  the  mother  and  daughter  awaited  the 
arrival  of  the  evening — the  mother  with  interest,  the 
daughter  with  impatience. 

In  the  meantime,  Shan  Dhu  was  not  idle.  He  had  heard 
enough  of  the  conversation  between  Kathleen  and  his  mother 
to  find  that  Rory's  interest  was  as  strong  with  the  latter  as 
the  former,  and  the  thought  was  poison  to  him.  When  he 
found  the  appointment  with  Rory  was  to  be  kept,  he  de- 
termined to  frustrate  the  happy  result  which  must  ensue 
if  it  were  permitted  to  take  place  without  the  intervention 
of  another  party,  and  he  determined  in  his  own  mind  who 
that  should  be.     He  was  no  stranger  to  the  damsel  whose 


I70  RORY  O'MORE. 

blandishments  hnd  been  thrown  away  upon  Rory,  and  he 
found  that  a  bitter  hatred  existed  against  him  in  that 
quarter  ;  nevertheless,  though  he  must  have  known  that 
this  could  have  arisen  but  from  one  cause,  he  it  was  who 
was  base  enough  to  insinuate  to  Kathleen  that  an  attach- 
ment subsisted  between  the  girl  and  Rory. 

It  was  to  find  this  unfortunate  woman  Shan  Regan  left 
his  house.  He  knew  where  to  seek  her,  and  met  in  her  a 
ready  person  to  act  up  to  his  wishes.  He  held  out  the  op- 
portunity of  gratifying  her  revenge  upon  Rory  thus  ;  to 
blast  his  hopes  with  the  girl  of  his  heart,  by  accusing  him 
of  treachery  and  falsehood,  and  laying  her  shame  to  his 
charge. 

To  this  the  nymph  of  the  cellar  assented  ;  and  thus  her 
startling  appearance  at  the  rath  is  accounted  for,  which 
stunned  with  surprise  our  hero  and  Kathleen,  to  whom  we 
must  now  return. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


Showing  that  Mothers  in  the  Country  Contrive  to  Marry  their  Daughters, 
the  same  as  Mothers  in  Town. 

When  Kathleen  saw  the  handsome  features  of  the  wo- 
man who  had  been  pointed  out  to  her  on  the  platform  at 
the  fair  disclosed  in  the  moonlight,  she  recognized  them 
at  once,  for  they  were  of  that  striking  character  not  easily 
forgotten  ;  and  coming,  as  she  did,  to  the  rath  in  the  hope 
of  having  her  doubts  of  Rory's  truth  dispelled,  and  instead 
of  that  finding  them  thus  strengthened  by  such  terrible 
evidence,  she  shuddered  with  a  faint  scream,  and  sunk  to 
the  earth. 

"  Look  what  you've  done  !  "  said  Rory,  stooping  to  raise 
the  fainting  girl,  which  he  did,  and  supporting  her  in  his 
arms,  as  he  turned  to  the  ill-omened  intruder,  and  said  re- 
proachfully, "What  did  I  ever  do  to  deserve  this?" 

"  Do  !  "  said  she,  and  her  eyes  glared  on  him  with  the 
expression  of  a  fiend.  "  Do  !  What  a  woman  never  forgets 
nor  forgives — and  I'll  have  my  revenge  o'  you,  you  cowld- 
blooded  thief,  I  will!  That's  your  innocent  girl,  I  suppose  ! 
Mighty  innocent,  indeed,  to  meet  a  man  inside  a  rath,  by 
the  pleasant  light  o'  the  moon  !     How  innocent  she  is  !" 

"  May  the  tongue  o'  ye  be  blisthered  in  fire,"  said  Rory, 
with  fury,  "  that  would  say  the  foul  word  of  her  !     Away 


RORY  O'MORE.  171 

U'id  you,  you  divil !  the  ground's  not  wholesome  you  thread 
on.     Away  wid  you  !  " 

She  shrunk  before  the  withering  words  and  the  indig- 
nant tone  of  the  lover,  and  retired  to  the  top  of  the  em- 
bankment, but  ere  she  descended,  she  stretched  forth  her 
arm  in  an  attitude  to  Rory,  and  said,  in  a  voice  in  which 
there  was  more  of  hell  than  earth  : 

"  Make  the  most  o'  your  innocent  girl  to-night,  Misther 
O'More,  for  it's  the  last  you'll  ever  see  of  her  !  You  think 
to  have  her,  you  do — ^but  she'll  never  be  yours  ;  for  if  I 
pay  my  sowl  for  the  purchase  money,  I'll  have  my  revenge 
o'  you  I — ha  !  ha  ! — remember  my  words — never  !  never  ! 
— ha !  ha  !  ha  !  "  and  with  something  between  the  laugh  of 
a  maniac  and  the  howl  of  a  hyena,  she  rushed  down  the 
hill,  leaving  Rory  horrified  at  such  a  fearful  exhibition  of 
depravity. 

When  Rory  proposed  to  Kathleen,  on  their  meeting, 
that  they  should  stand  within  the  shadow  of  the  bridge,  it 
may  be  remembered  that  she  refused  to  do  so  ;  for  her 
mother,  who  had  accompanied  her,  decided  on  remaining 
out  of  sight  on  that  very  spot,  while  Kathleen  should  enter 
the  rath  for  her  conference  with  Rory. 

She  had  seen  her  daughter  and  our  hero  ascend  to  the 
top  of  the  mound,  and  in  a  very  short  time  after  was  sur- 
prised to  observe  a  third  person  take  the  same  course. 
This  excited  her  curiosity,  and  she  watched  anxiously  ; 
and  it  was  not  long  until  she  saw  the  figure  descending 
the  mound  rapidly,  and  running  toward  the  very  point 
where  she  stood.  The  mother  immediately  crouched  under 
some  bushes  to  escape  observation,  and  the  sound  of  hur- 
ried steps  having  approached  close  to  her  place  of  ambush, 
suddenly  stopped,  and  she  heard,  in  a  somewhat  low,  but 
perfectly  clear  tone,  the  name  of  "  Shan  "  pronounced  and 
soon  after  it  was  repeated.  "  Shan  Dhu,"  said  this  unex- 
pected intruder. 

"  Here  I  am,"  was  answered  to  the  summons. 

The  name  of  "  Shan  Dhu  "  being  that  of  her  own  son, 
Kathleen's  mother  had  her  attention  still  more  aroused  ; 
and  the  voice  in  which  the  response  was  made  induced  her 
to  believe  that  it  was  Regan  who  answered.  Peering  forth 
from  the  bushes  as  well  as  she  might,  she  saw  the  figure 
of  a  man  emerge  from  under  one  of  the  dry  arches  of  the 
bridge,  and  then  there  was  no  longer  a  doubt  on  the  sub- 
ject— it  was  Shan  Regan  who  came  forth  to  meet  the 
woman  who  had  just  run  down  the  hill. 


172  RORV  O'MORE. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Regan. 

"  I've  done  it  !  "  said  the  woman. 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  Oh  they  were  both  knocked  all  of  a  heap." 

"  But,  did  you  make  her  sinsible  that  the  sneaking  thiei 
was  a  black-hearted  desaiver  ?" 

"  Throth  I  did.     Didn't  you  hear  her  screech  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Thin  in  throth  she  did.  I  towld  her  that  he  had  prom- 
ised me  before  her,  and  she  dhropt  down  in  a  fit." 

"That'll  do,"  said  Regan.  "And  now  we  may  as  well 
be  joggin'  since  tlie  business  is  done  ;  we  mustn't  be  seen 
near  the  place."  And  he  with  his  hardened  accomplice 
hastened  from  the  spot. 

Kathleen's  mother  remained  for  some  time  in  her  place 
of  concealment,  that  Regan  and  his  abandoned  companion 
might  not  be  aware  of  her  presence.  During  the  few 
minutes  she  felt  it  necessary  to  remain  in  concealment, 
her  mind  became  fully  impressed  with  the  conviction  that 
some  deception  had  been  practised  upon  Kathleen,  and 
manifestly  through  the  instrumentality  of  her  brothei'. 
When  the  mother  thought  she  might  emerge  from  he/- 
ambuscade  in  safety,  she  hastened  up  the  side  of  the  rath  , 
as  her  fears  for  her  daughter  had  been  excited  when  sh>e 
heard  that  "  she  had  dropt  down  in  a  fit." 

On  reaching  the  interior  of  the  fort,  she  heard  Rory  ex- 
postulating with  Kathleen  on  the  improbability  of  the  ac- 
cusations made  against  him  ;  for,  before  the  mother  had 
arrived,  Rory  had  contrived,  by  brushing  the  dew  from 
the  grass  with  his  hand,  and  sprinkling  the  moisture  over 
Kathleen's  face,  to  recover  her  from  the  state  of  insensi- 
bility into  which  the  sudden  appearance  and  fearful  accu- 
sation of  Rory's  enemy  had  thrown  her. 

"Oh,  why  did  you  bring  me  here  at  all  ?"  said  Kathleen, 
in  a  tone  of  agony. 

"To  clear  myself  to  you,  Kathleen,"  said  Rory. 

"  Clear  yourself  !     Oh  Rory  !   that  dreadful  woman  ! " 

"  By  all  that  is  sacred,  Kathleen,  I  know  no  more  about 
her  than  the  child  unborn." 

"Oh,  can  I  believe  it  afther  all  I've  heard  and  seen, 
Rory?     Ca7i  I  believe  it?" 

"  Kathleen,  as  I  hope  to  see  heaven,  I'm  innocent  of 
what  she  accuses  me." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  b'lieve  it !  "  said  Kathleen,  sob- 
bing. 


RORY   O'MORE.  173 

*'Thin  you  may  b'lieve  it,  my  darlin',  "  said  her  mother 
who  now  joined  them. 

This  fresh  surprise  made  Kathleen  scream  again  ;  but, 
recognizing  her  mother,  she  sprung  into  her  arms. 

"  Oh,  mother  dear  !  mother  dear  !  but  I'm  glad  to  see 
you,"  said  the  excited  girl,  wlio  had  not  caught  the  mean- 
ing of  the  words  her  mother  uttered.  "Oh  mother! 
mother !  you  are  thrue  to  me,  at  all  events  ;  you'll  never 
desaive  me." 

"Nor  I,  either,  Kathleen,"  said  Rory  ;  "and  sure  here's 
your  mother  to  bear  witness  for  me.  Don't  you  hear  what 
she  says  ?  " 

"What?  what?"  said  Kathleen,  bewildered. 

"  Compose  yourself,  dear  !  "  said  the  mother.  "  Don't 
b'lieve  the  bad  things  you've  heard  of  Rory  ;  they're  not 
true — I'm  sure  they're  not  true." 

"  Bad  luck  to  the  word  ! "  said  Rory,  plucking  up  his 
courage. 

"  But  that  woman,"  said  Kathleen,  "where  is  she  ?"  and 
she  looked  round  in  alarm. 

"She's  gone,  dear,"  said  the  mother  soothingly;  and 
Rory,  in  less  gentle  accents,  made  no  scruple  of  saying, 
"  Where  ?  " 

"  Rory,"  said  Kathleen's  mother,  with  a  serious  tender- 
ness in  her  manner  ;  "  I  b'lieve  that  you  love  my  child,  and 
that  you  mane  to  be  thrue  to  her." 

"  May  I  never  see  glory  if  I  don't  ! "  said  Rory,  fer- 
vently. 

The  mother  took  their  hands,  and  joining  them,  said, 
"  Then  I  give  her  to  you,  Rory,  with  all  the  veins  o'  my 
heart  ;  and  may  my  blessing  be  on  you  ! " 

Rory  took  the  yielding  girl  tenderly  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her  unresistingly,  alternately  blessing  her  and  her 
mother  for  making  him  "  the  happiest  fellow  in  Ireland," 
as  he  said  himself. 

How  all  this  sudden  revolution  of  affairs  in  his  favor  had 
occurred,  Rory  gave  himself  no  trouble  to  inquire  ;  he  was 
content  with  the  knowledge  of  the  fact ;  and  after  escort- 
ing Kathleen  and  her  mother  within  sight  of  their  house, 
he  turned  his  steps  homeward,  and  re-entered  his  cottage 
a  happier  man  than  he  had  left  it. 


174  RORY  O'MORE. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

In  which  Rory  O'More  Proves  Himself  to  be  a  Man  of  Letters. 

The  next  morning  Rory  rose  in  high  spirits,  and  deter- 
mined on  amusing  himself  with  a  piece  of  sarcastic  wag- 
gery that  he  intended  executing  upon  Sweeny,  the  re- 
formed papist  attorney,  whose  apostasy  was  a  source  of 
great  indignation  to  Rory. 

It  so  happened  that  the  tombstone  of  old  Sweeny,  the 
apothecary,  bearing  the  popish  phrase,  "  Pray  for  the  soul 
of  Denis  Sweeny,"  stood  most  provokingly  close  to  the 
pathway  leading  to  the  church  door  ;  so  that  every  Sunday, 
when  his  son,  the  attorney,  was  going  to  attend  divine  ser- 
vice, as  by  law  established^  his  Church-of-Englandism  was 
much  scandalized  by  having  this  damning  (and  damnable) 
proof  of  his  apostasy  staring  him  in  the  face.  Not  that  he 
cared  for  it  himself ;  he  was  one  of  those  callous-hearted 
people  who  could  "have  botanized  on  his  mother's  grave," 
therefore  this  proof  of  his  former  creed  on  the  grave  of  his 
father  could  have  given  him  no  trouble  ;  but  he  did  not 
like  the  evidence  to  remain  there  in  the  sight  of  other  peo- 
ple, and  he  had  asked  Rory  O'More  how  the  nuisance  could 
be  abated. 

Our  hero  was  indignant  with  the  petty-minded  pettifog- 
ger, and  wished  to  retaliate  upon  him  for  the  renunciation 
of  his  old  creed  ;  for  the  Roman  Catholics  have  the  same 
bitter  feeling  against  the  man  who  secedes  from  their  pro- 
fession of  faith  as  those  of  the  Church  of  England  enter- 
tain against  the  dissenters  from  them. 

So  Rory,  after  hearing  the  attorney's  complaint,  said  he 
thought  he  could  rectify  the  objectionable  passage  on  the 
tombstone.     How  he  accomplished  this  will  be  seen. 

After  breakfast  he  asked  De  Lacy  would  he  go  over  to 
see  "the  churches,"  as  the  old  burial-place  in  the  neigh- 
borhood was  called,  where  the  ruins  of  some  monastic 
buildings  stood,  one  of  which  had  been  repaired  and 
roofed  in  for  the  parish  church.  De  Lacy  assented  to  the 
proposal,  and  Rory  suggested  that  they  should  endeavor  to 
get  Phelim  O'Flanagan  to  accompany  them, 

"  His  school  lies  in  our  way,"  said  Rory,  "and  we  may 
as  well  ax  him  to  come  ;  for  there  is  a  power  of  owld  an- 
shint  tombstones  in  it,  in  owld  Irish,  and  he  can  explain 
them  to  you,  sir." 


RORY   O'MORE.  17S 

True  it  was,  that  here  many  an  ancient  gravestone  stood, 
mingled  with  those  of  later  days— the  former  bearing  the 
old  Irish 

op.  80. 

the  latter,  the 

PRAY  FOR— 

showing,  that  though  conquest  had  driven  the  aboriginal 
Irish  from  the  spot,  the  religion,  though  not  the  language 
of  the  people,  had  survived  their  downfall. 

And  here  what  a  striking  evidence  is  given  of  the  inutil- 
ity of  penal  laws! — nay  worse  than  inutility;  for  prohibi- 
tion seems  to  act  on  human  nature  rather  as  a  productive 
than  a  preventive  cause  of  the  thing  forbidden,  and  the  re- 
ligion of  the  Irish,  like  their  native  shamrock,  by  being 
trampled  on,  becomes  prolific. 

Their  language  is  passing  away,  though  it  was  not  penal 
to  speak  it  ;  but  their  religion  has  lasted  because  penalty 
attended  its  profession,  and  the  faith  of  a  persecuted  peo- 
ple is  still  recorded  in  the  language  of  the  oppressor. 

Thanks  to  God  !  the  days  of  persecution  are  past  ;  and 
fair  fame  to  England  in  cancelling  from  her  statutes  the  un- 
just and  unholy  penalties  that  man,  in  his  bigoted  profan- 
ity, has  dared  to  interpose  between  the  worship  of  the  creat- 
ure to  the  Creator. 

And  Fortune  never  dispensed  a  brighter  honor  on  her 
favorite  than  in  shedding  over  the  name  of  Wellington  the 
glory  of  being  the  agent  of  this  blessing  to  his  native  land. 
This  mingling  of  the  olive  with  his  laurels  increases  their 
brightness  as  it  will  their  endurance  ;  for  when  many  a 
victory  he  has  won  will  cease  to  be  remembered,  the  eman- 
cipation of  his  country  from  the  bondage  of  bigotry  will 
never  be  forgotten  ;  and  soothing  be  the  thought  in  the 
hero's  last  hour,  that  though  many  of  his  achievements 
have  evoked  the  curses  of  a  foreign  land,  this  greatest 
triumph  of  his  life  will  be  remembered  Avith  blessings  by 
his  countrymen. 

When  Phelim  was  asked  to  bear  De  Lacy  and  our  hero 
company,  he  was  immersed  in  the  mysteries  of  his  school, 
and  could  not  immediately  accompany  them  ;  but  he  prom- 
ised to  follow  soon,  and  for  that  purpose  gave  his  scholars 
half  a  holiday,  for  which  beneficence  on  his  part  they  threw 
up  their  hats — that  is,  such  of  them  as  had  any  ;  while  tliose 
of  them  who  had  not  made  up  the  deficiency  by  extra  shout' 


176  RORY    O'MORE. 

ing  ;  and  Phelim,  his  school  being  dismissed,  followed  De 
Lacy  and  Rory  to  "  the  churches." 

This  burial-ground  was  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  the  village  ;  yet,  though  in  the  neighborhood  of 
man's  habitation,  it  was  particularly  lonely  ;  for,  except  on 
Sundays,  when  the  small  Protestant  congregation  went  to 
divine  service,  or  that  the  occasion  of  a  funeral  called  the 
peasantry  to  the  spot,  it  was  little  frequented. 

Indeed,  a  churchyard  is  generally  avoided  ;  nor  can  it  be 
wondered  at  that  the  resting-place  of  the  dead  should  have 
an  appalling  influence  on  the  ignorant  and  superstitious, 
when  even  to  the  most  enlightened  there  is  a  chastened 
and  solemn  tone  of  feeling  produced  on  entering  a  place 
of  sepulture. 

Much  of  this  feeling  is  lessened,  or  at  least  the  indul- 
gence of  it  is  in  a  more  elevated  tone,  when  we  walk 
through  the  range  of  magnificent  monuments  lining  the 
vaulted  aisle  of  some  noble  abbey.  Here  the  vanity  of  our 
nature  is  indirectly  flattered  by  witnessing  the  tribute  that 
posterity  pays  to  greatness,  and  Glory  more  than  half  di- 
vides the  triumph  with  Death.  But  in  the  lonely  country 
churchyard,  where  some  plain  headstone  or  nameless 
mound  of  earth  is  all  that  is  left  to  tell  that  there  rests  a 
being  once  instinct  with  life  as  ourselves,  and  where,  in- 
stead of  vaulted  roof  and  clustered  columns,  the  ruins  of 
some  lowly  chapel  stand,  they,  like  all  around,  telling  of 
decay — there  it  is  that  the  contemplation  of  mortality  ex- 
ercises its  most  depressing  influence,  and  the  thought  of 
death  strikes  cold  on  the  heart. 

De  Lacy  accompanied  Rory  to  the  burial-place,  which 
stood  on  a  small  mound,  the  gravestones  rising  in  bare  re- 
lief against  the  sky,  which  here  and  there  peeped  through 
the  shattered  mullions  of  some  window  in  the  ruined  wall 
of  one  of  the  little  churches,  giving  an  air  of  peculiar  des- 
olation to  the  place,  which  was  increased,  perhaps,  by  the 
slated  roof  of  one  of  them,  which  was  repaired  and  em- 
ployed as  a  Protestant  parish  church.  A  pathway  led  to 
this  building,  and  Rory  came  to  a  stand  where,  on  one 
side  of  the  path,  stood  a  rather  conspicuous  tombstone 
with  this  inscription  : 

Pray  for  the  soul  of 
Denis  Sweeny, 
who  departed,  etc. 

"  Do  you  see  that  ?  "  said  Rory  to  De  Lacy. 
"  Yes." 


RORY  O'MORE.  I77 

"  Well,  that's  what  brings  me  here  to-day." 

"How?"    said  De   Lacy. 

"Why,  that's  owld  Denny  Sweeny's  tombstone;  and 
you  see  the  poor  owld  fellow  axes  everyone  to  pray  for 
his  sowl — and  why  not  ? — and  indeed  I  hope  he's  in  glory. 
Well,  you  see  by  that  he  was  a  good  Catholic,  and  a  dacent 
man  he  was  ;  and  when  he  died  he  ordhered  the  same 
tombstone  to  be  put  over  him,  and  paid  my  own  father  for 
the  cuttin'  the  same." 

"  Is  it  after  he  died  ?  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Oh,  no — you  know  what  I  mane  ;  but  sure  a  slip  o' 
the  tongue  doesn't  matther.  Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  my 
father  cut  the  same  tombstone — and  a  nate  bit  o'  work 
it  is  ;  see  the  iligant  crass  an  it,  and  cut  so  deep  that  the 
divil  wouldn't  get  it  out  o'  it — God  forgi'  me  for  sayin' 
divil  to  the  crass  !  " 

"It's  deep  enough,  indeed,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"Ay,  and  so  I  towld  the  dirty  brat,  Sweeny — the  turner, 
I  mane — when  he  axed  me  about  it.  What  do  you  think 
he  wants  me  to  do  .'  "  said  Rory. 

"  To  take  it  back  for  half-price,  perhaps,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"Faith,  he  hasn't  that  much  fun  in  him  to  think  of  sitch 
a  thing." 

"What  was  it,  then  ?" 

"Why,  he  wants  me  to  alther  it,"  said  Rory. 

"  For  himself,  I  hope  ?  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"No,"  said  Rory;  "though  in  throth  I'd  do  that  with 
pleasure,  for  he'd  be  no  loss  to  king  or  counthry.  But  as 
I  was  tellin'  you,  he  comes  to  me  the  other  day,  and  towld 
me  it  was  disgraceful  to  see  sitch  a  thing  as  *  pray  for  the 
sowl'  on  his  father's  tombstone  in  sitch  enlightened  times 
as  these,  when  people  knew  better  than  to  pray  for  people's 
sowls. 

"  '  They  might  do  worse,'  says  I. 

"  '  It  might  do  for  the  dark  ages,'  says  he,  '  but  it  won't 
do  now  ; '  laying  it  all  on  the  dark  ages,  by  the  way,  jist  as 
if  people  didn't  know  that  it  was  bekaze  when  he  goes  to 
church  every  Sunday  his  poor  honest  father's  tombstone 
stares  him  in  the  face,  the  same  as  if  the  voice  out  of  the 
grave  called  to  him  and  said,  '  Oh,  thin,  Dinny,  my  boy,  is 
it  goin'  to  church  you  are  ?'  Not  that  he'd  mind  that,  for 
the  cowld-hearted  thief  hasn't  the  feelin'  to  think  of  it ; 
but  it's  the  dirty  pride  of  the  little  animal ;  he  doesn't  lik(; 
the  real  Prodestants  to  see  the  thing  stan'in'  in  evidence 
agin  him.  So  I  thought  I'd  divart  myself  a  bit  with  him^ 
12 


l^if  RORY  O'MORE. 

and  says  I,  '  Sure  the  tombstone  doesn't  do  you  nor  any. 
body  else  any  harm.'  '  Yes,  it  does,'  says  he,  '  it  stands  in 
evidence  agin  my  father's  common  sinse,  and  I'm  ashamed 
of  it.' 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Rory,  feelingly,  "  what  luck  can  the  man 
have  that  says  he's  ashamed  of  his  father's  grave  !  "  The 
feeling  and  touching  appeal  reached  De  Lacy's  heart. 
Rory  continued — "  Ashamed,  indeed  !  Throth,  an'  well 
he  may  say  he's  ashamed  ! — not  for  his  father,  though — no 
— but  well  may  he  be  ashamed  to  change  his  creed  ! " 

"You  shouldn't  blame  any  man  for  his  religious  belief, 
Rory,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"No  more  I  would,  sir,  if  it  was  the  belief  that  he  was 
reared  in  ;  but " 

"Oh  !  "  said  De  Lacy,  interrupting  him,  *' if  a  man  feels 
that  he  has  been  instructed  in  a  belief  which  his  conscience 
will  not  permit  him  to  follow " 

"Sure,  sir,"  said  Rory,  interrupting  in  his  turn,  "I 
wouldn't  blame  him  for  that  neither  ;  but  is  it  Sweeny  you 
think  does  it  for  that  ?  not  he  in  troth — it's  jist  for  the 
lucre,  and  nothin'  else.  And  sure,  if  he  had  the  feeling  in 
him  to  love  his  fatlier,  sure  it's  not  altherin'  his  tombstone 
he'd  be,  that  was  made  by  his  father's  own  directions  ;  and 
suppose  he  thinks  that  he  ought  to  be  a  Prodestant  ever  so 
much,  sure  isn't  it  bad  of  him  to  intherfare  with  his  poor 
father's  dyin'  request  that  they  would  pray  for  his  sowl  ?  " 

"'  That  I  grant  you,"  said  De  Lacy. 

'•'  Well,  he  comes  to  me  to  ask  me  to  alther  it.  '  For 
what  ? '  says  L  '  Bekaze  I'am  ashamed  of  it,'  says  he. 
'  Why  ?  '  says  I.  '  Bekaze  it's  only  popery,'  says  he. 
'Well,'  says  I,  'if  it's  popery  ever  so  much,  sure  it's  your 
father's  doin'  and  any  shame  there  is  in  it,  it  is  to  him,  and 
not  to  you,  and  so  you  needn't  care  about  it  ;  and  if  your 
father  did  wish  people  to  pray  for  his  sowl,  I  think  it  very 
bad  o'  you  to  wish  to  prevent  it.'  *  It  can  do  him  no  good,' 
says  he.     '  It  can  do  him  no  harm,  anyhow,'  says  I. 

"  So  he  couldn't  get  over  that  very  well,  and  made  no  an- 
swer about  the  good  or  the  harm  of  it,  and  said  he  didn't 
want  to  argue  the  point  with  me,  but  that  he  wanted  it 
althered  ;  and  as  my  father  done  the  job,  he  thought  I  was 
the  person  to  alther  it.  '  And  how  do  you  want  it  changed  ?' 
says  I.  'Take  out  "pray  for  the  sowl,"'  says  he  :  'that's 
nothing  but  popery.'  '  My  father  always  cut  the  sowl  very 
deep,' says  I,  'and  to  take  it  out  is  impossible  ;  but  it's 
only  the  popery  you  object  to,  I  can  alther  it  if  you  like, 


RORY  O'MORE.  179 

so  that  you  can  have  nothing  to  say  agin  it.'  '  How  ?'  says 
he.  'Oh,  let  me  alone,'  says  I.  'You're  no  sculpture,'  says 
I,  '  and  don't  know  how  I'll  do  it  ;  but  you'll  see  yourself 
when  it  is  done,'  '  You  won't  charge  me  much  ? '  says  he. 
'  I'll  charge  you  nothing,'  says  I  ;  '  I'm  not  a  mason  by 
thrade,  and  I'll  do  the  job  for  love.'  '  But  how  do  you 
mane  to  do  it  ? '  says  he,  agin.  '  Oil,  never  mind,'  says  I  ; 
'  go  your  ways,  I'll  do  the  job  complate,  and  next  Sunday, 
when  you  go  to  the  church,  you'll  see  the  divil  a  bit  o' 
popery  will  be  in  the  same  tombstone.'  '  That's  all  I  want, ' 
says  he.  'Thin  we'll  be  both  plazed,'  says  I.  And  now  I'm 
oome  here  to-day  to  do  the  very  thing." 

"  And  how  do  you  mean  to  effect  the  alteration,  Rory  ? " 
said  De  Lacy. 

"  As  aisy  as  kiss  hand,"  said  Rory.  "  Jist  do  you  amuse 
yourself  with  looking  into  the  churches  ;  there's  some 
quare  car\angs  round  the  windows  and  doors,  and  a 
mighty  curious  owld  stone  crass  up  there  beyant.  Or,  if 
you  like,  sir,  sit  down  beside  me  here  with  your  book  and 
you  can  read  while  I  work." 

De  Lacy  had  not  been  long  engaged  in  reading,  when 
old  Phelim  made  his  appearance  ;  and  with  so  amusing  a 
cicerone,  De  Lacy  passed  a  couple  of  hours  pleasantly 
enough  in  looking  over  the  antiquities  of  the  place. 

After  the  lapse  of  that  period,  Rory  had  completed  his 
task,  and  sought  his  friends  to  show  them  how  thoroughly 
he  had  neutralized  the  Popery  that  had  so  much  distressed 
Sweeny. 

"  How  could  you  have  done  it  so  soon  ?  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Oh,  I  won't  tell  you,  you  must  see  it  yourself,"  said 
Rory.  "  It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  life — four  letthers  did 
it  all."  Rory  now  conducted  De  Lacy  and  Phelim  to  the 
tombstone,  and  the  moment  they  stood  before  it  they  both 
indulged  in  hearty  laughter.  Rory  had  carved  over  the 
objectionable  request  the  phrase  "don't,"  so  the  inscrip- 
tion ran  thus  : 

don't 

I^ray  for  the  soul  of 
Denis  Sweeny. 

*'  Isn't  that  the  thing  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  Capital,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Isn't  that  sarving  the  little  viper  right  ?  You  see  he 
darn't  say  at  wanst,  out  lionest,  that  he  was  ashamed  for 
liis  oivn  sake,  bekase  he  was  a  turncoat  ;  but  he  lays  the 
blame  on  the  Fopery.     Oh,  in  throth.  there's  many  a  dirty 


iSo  RORY   O'MORE. 

turn  and  many  a  cruel  thing  done  on  us  ;  and  thim  that 
does  the  thing  is  ashamed  to  own  to  the  right  cause,  and 
so  they  lay  the  blame  on  the  Popery.  By  my  sowl !  they 
ought  to  be  obleeged  to  Popery  for  giving  them  sitch  a 
convanient  excuse  for  not  havin'  things  called  by  their 
right  names." 

"  But  won't  Sweeny  be  very  angry  about  it  ?" 

"  Faith,  to  be  sure  he  will,"  said  Phelim,  shaking  his 
head.  "  Rory  ?na  bouchal,  though  I  can't  deny  your  wit,  I 
cannot  complimint  you  with  an  epithalamium  upon  your 
prudence  :  you  have  made  that  little  bitther  attorney  your 
inimy  to  the  ind  o'  time." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Rory  ;  **but  what  do  I  care  ?" 

"  Rory,  my  boy.  Prudence  ;  Frude?itia,  as  the  Latins  had 
it — Prudence,  my  boy,  is  one  of  the  cardinal  virtues." 

"  Well,  to  expose  humbuggin'  is  as  cardinal  as  ever  it 
was." 

"  So  you  won't  listen  to  me  ?  Magister  docet,  sed  vos  verA 
negligitis." 

"  Well,  who's  sayin'  it's  prudent  ?  But  all  I  stand  up 
for  is  the  altheration  ;  and  isn't  that  complate  ?  " 

"That  there  is  no  denyin',"  said  Phelim. 

"  And  all  with  four  letthers  ?  " 

"You  have  demonstherated  it  as  complate  wid  four,'" 
said  Phelim,  "  as  I  do  my  mattamatics  wid  three — 
Q.  E.  D." 

"  By  dad  !  I  have  a  great  mind  to  put  Q.  E.  D.  at  thfc 
ind  of  it  all,"  said  Rory, 

"  For  what  ?  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Bekase  it  is  tuhat  was  to  be  de7nonstherated"  said  Rory. 

"  'Faith,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  remember  your  matta- 
matics still,"  said  Phelim. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  grate  fun  ! "  said  Rory. 

"  It's  bad  enough  as  it  is,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  without  mak- 
ing matters  worse.    I'm  afraid,  Rory,  this  was  very  unwise." 

"  Yet  you  can't  help  laughing  at  it,"  said  Rory. 

"  Indeed  I  can't,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Well,  and  so  will  the  Prodestants  laugh  at  that  con- 
timptible  little  upstart  when  they  see  it,  and  that's  all  I 
want.  There's  nothing  an  upstart  feels  half  so  much  as  a 
laugh  against  him,"  said  Rory,  making  a  sagacious  com- 
ment upon  his  own  imprudent  act. 

"Quite  true,"  said  De  Lacy,  "and  therefore  the  attor- 
ney will  never  forgive  you." 

"  The  beauty  of  it  is,"  said  Rory,  still  enjoying  his  joke, 


RORY   O'MORE.  iSi 

•*  that  he  can't  complain  openly  about  it,  for  all  he  said 
was  that  he  was  ashamed  about  the  Popery  of  it.  Now, 
I've  taken  the  Popery  out  of  it,  at  all  events." 

"  Certainly,"  said  De  Lacy  ;  "but,  at  the  same  time,  you 
have  increased  Sweeny's  cause  of  inquietude  by  making 
the  offensive  phrase  more  obnoxious." 

"That's  what  I  meant  to  do,"  said  Rory,  boldly  ;  "I've 
caught  him  in  his  own  thrap.  The  little  scheming 'turney 
complained  only  about  the  Popery  ;  now,  with  four  letthers, 
I've  desthroyed  more  Popery  than  the  parson  could  do 
with  twice  as  many." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Rory,"  said  De  Lacy,  smiling,  "  many 
men  of  letters  have  failed  with  the  whole  alphabet  to  alter 
a  text  so  completely  as  you  have  done  ^'\\h.four." 


CHAPTER  XXL 


In  which  Shan  Regan  and  Soldiering  Solomon  give  a  Touch  of  Their 
Quality,  and  Rory  Undergoes  a  Trial  of  Temper. 

Although  Regan's  mother  had  discovered  his  perfidy 
toward  his  sister  and  Rory,  and  relieved  them  from  the 
consequences  that  might  have  ensued  from  it,  she  did  not 
reveal  to  Rory  the  treachery  of  which  her  son  had  been 
guilty — for  still  he  was  her  son,  and  with  a  mother's  ten- 
derness she  sought  to  screen  him,  in  the  eyes  of  our  hero, 
from  the  contempt  which  so  base  a  means  of  indulging  his 
dislike  must  have  produced. 

But  she  saw  how  deep  the  hatred  to  Rory  must  be  on 
Regan's  part,  to  urge  him  to  such  practices  as  he  had  ex- 
ercised against  him,  and  until  matters  were  riper  for  a  dis- 
closure— in  fact,  until  Kathleen  and  he  should  be  just  go- 
ing to  be  married — she  begged  of  Rory  to  say  nothing 
about  what  had  passed  ;  for  if  it  came  to  Shan's  knowl- 
edge, he  would  be  "  showing  his  temper"  at  home,  and  it 
was  as  well  not  to  vex  him  until  the  time  came  when  the 
definite  step  could  be  taken  which  would  render  his  anger 
of  no  avail  ;  for  though  she  would  not  betray  to  Rory  the 
baseness  of  her  son,  she  had  no  hesitation  in  owning  that 
he  was  not  his  friend. 

It  was  with  this  understanding  that  Rory  and  Kathleen 
parted  the  night  of  their  meeting  at  the  rath.  But  though 
Mrs.  Regan  kept  the  means  of  her  knowledge  a  secret  from 


l82  /?OI?V  O'MORE. 

Rory,  she  revealed  to  her  daughter  how  she  became  pos« 
sessed  of  the  knowledge  that  exposed  the  treacherous  in- 
fluence employed  to  ruin  the  hopes  of  two  innocent  people, 
not  only  to  satisfy  Kathleen's  inquiries  of  how  her  mother 
could  vouch  for  Rory's  conduct,  but  in  order  to  put  Kath- 
leen on  her  guard  against  betraying  to  her  brother  any 
symptom  of  his  plot  having  failed. 

"  For  what  would  we  do  if  he  thought  we  found  him 
out  ? " 

Miserable  mother  '  whose  only  hope  of  domestic  quiet 
lay  in  seeming  to  be  ignorant  of  the  ruffianism  of  her  child. 

With  all  her  caution,  however,  though  Kathleen  did  not 
betray  any  symptoms  of  happiness  in  her  brother's  pres- 
ence, and  subdued  her  looks  and  manner  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, still  Regan  was  not  quite  satisfied  with  the  apparent 
state  of  things  at  home.  Not  that  he  suspected  his  plot 
had  been  discovered,  but  he  feared  that  it  had  not  been 
sufficiently  effective,  or  that  Kathleen  would  exhibit  more 
distress.  He  therefore  Avent  further  in  endeavoring  to 
depreciate  Rory  O'More  in  everything  he  could  say  and 
do,  not  only  at  home,  but  abroad. 

There  are  some  natures  so  essentially  vile  that  they  can 
never  forgive  another's  success.  Such  was  Regan's.  But 
to  this  habitual  baseness  of  mind  was  added  the  stimulus 
of  dislike  in  Rory's  affair,  and  that  his  sister's  attachment 
to  him  seemed  still  to  survive  the  threats  and  falsehoods 
and  machinations  urged  against  it,  increased  that  dislike. 
But  it  was  Rory's  triumph  over  him  at  the  fair  that  com- 
pleted the  sum  of  his  hatred.  This  Regan  looked  upon 
as  a  personal  disgrace,  and  the  remembrance  of  it  sunk 
deep  in  his  heart  ;  and  deeper  and  deeper  it  sunk  every 
day,  and  the  depth  of  the  remembrance  called  for  a  greater 
measure  of  revenge.  Until  this  could  be  satisfied,  he  in 
the  meantime  got  up  a  piece  of  slander  against  Rory  by 
falsifying  all  the  circumstances  of  the  visit  to  the  fair. 

This  he  did  with  the  most  thorough  malevolence  and  in- 
jurious perversion  of  all  the  facts.  He  spoke  among  his 
fellows,  openly  in  the  public  houses,  w^here  most  of  hiy 
time  was  spent,  in  a  spirit  of  jeering  slightingnessof  Mary 
O'More  being  "gallivanted  round  the  fair  by  that  oma- 
dhaun  Conolly — and  thrated  Misther  Rory,  too,  I  hear 
Well,  people's  changed  !  I  thought  wanst  that  Rory  had 
more  spirit  than  to  be  takin'  thrates  from  another  man  on 
account  of  his  sisther's  purty  face." 

Now,  though  he  got  hearers  who  were  base  enough  to 


RORY  O'MORE.  183 

listen  to  this,  he  did  not  find  one  to  believe  him,  for  they 
were  well  aware  of  the  secret  and  real  cause  of  his  spleen. 
But  this  disparagement  did  not  satisfy  him  ;  there  was  an- 
other and  a  viler  misrepresentation  of  which  he  was  guilty. 
The  business  of  the  ducks,  which,  if  truly  told,  he  knew 
would  only  raise  a  laugh  against  him,  he  twisted,  with  the 
true  serpent  spirit  that  actuated  him,  into  a  crime,  and, 
with  the  expression  of  r^^r^Avhich  is  so  often  the  outward 
sign  of  the  secret  rejoicing  of  the  bad  man's  heart,  he  de- 
clared he  was  sorry  that  Rory  "  let  himself  down  so  much, 
for  he  thought  he  was  above  stalin  a  poor  pitiful  pair  o' 
ducks  :  throth,  it  wasn't  worth  while  bein'  a  thief  for  such  a 
ihrifler 

All  this,  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  travelled  to  the  next 
parish,  where  Rory  lived  ;  for  even  in  sylvan  scenes  the 
dryads  have  it  not  all  to  themselves — there  be  evil  geniuses 
in  the  country  as  well  as  the  town,  and  "d d  good-nat- 
ured friends  "  are  to  be  found  everywhere — and  some  of 
these  same  good-natured  folk  told  Rory  what  was  said  of 
him. 

The  first  bearer  of  the  disagreeable  intelligence  was  old 
Solomon  the  tinker,  who  delighted  in  having  it  in  his 
power  to  say  bitter  things  of  everybody — or  even  to  them, 
when  he  could  do  it  by  innuendo,  a  favorite  weapon  of  his, 
and  one  which  he  used  like  a  master. 

It  happened  during  the  day  Rory  and  De  Lacy  went  to 
"the  churches  "  that  old  Solomon  paid  the  Widow  O'More 
a  visit.  In  doing  this  he  had  two  objects  :  in  the  first 
place,  he  enacted  guide  to  De  Welskein,  who  wanted  to 
to  see  De  Lacy  ;  and  in  the  next,  he  was  sure  of  "  enter- 
tainment," as  the  signboards  have  it,  for  himself  and  his  ass. 

He  was  kindly  received  at  the  cottage  of  the  widow,  and 
had  some  fresh  buttermilk  and  good  potatoes  given  him, 
with  a  seat  in  the  chimney-corner  into  the  bargain,  where 
he  roasted  his  shins,  and  smoked  his  pipe,  and  said  sour 
things  of  half  the  country — and,  in  short,  made  himself 
perfectly  happy.  But  after  spending  a  couple  of  hours 
thus,  he  began  to  exhibit  symptoms  of  impatience  at  Rory's 
absence  ;  for  he  wanted  to  proceed  farther,  and  yet  he 
did  not  like  to  go  without  giving  to  Rory  the  pleasant  in- 
timation that  he  was  gaining  the  reputation  of  being  a 
very  ingenious  purloiner  of  other  people's  property — wait- 
ing to  wound  the  man  the  hospitable  shelter  of  whose 
roof  he  had  enjoyed,  not  only  then,  but  at  all  times.  And 
thiS;  he  must  have  been  conscious   rose  from  a  pure  good- 


iS4  RORY   O'MORE. 

hcartedness  ;  for  his  habitual  influence  through  the  motive 
of  fear  did  not  exist  there  as  in  other  places,  Rory  being 
too  sharp  a  fellow  to  let  Solomon  exercise  such  a  power 
over  him  ;  and  it  was  partly  this  fact  that  made  the  old 
scoundrel  the  more  anxious  to  gall,  at  least,  where  he  could 
not  govern. 

De  Welskein  waited  patiently  enough  the  return  of  De 
Lacy,  as  he  consoled  himself  with  making  compliments  to 
Mary  O'More,  and  doing  the  agreeable,  as  Frenchmen 
generally  do  ;  but  Solomon  from  time  to  time  went  from 
the  fireplace  to  the  door  to  look  out  for  Rory,  whom,  at 
last,  he  saw  approaching. 

When  Rory  entered  the  cottage,  he  welcomed  De  Wel» 
skein,  who  seemed  rather  constrained  in  his  manner  to- 
ward him,  and  asked  for  De  Lacy  ;  Rory  informed  him  he 
would  soon  return— that  he  left  him  and  Phelim  behind 
in  the  churchyard,  looking  over  some  old  tombstones, 
but  that  they  would  not  be  long  absent. 

"  And  how  are  you,  Sol  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"Oh,  as  well  as  anyone  wishes  me,"  replied  Solomon, 
bitterly. 

"  What  are  you  in  sitch  a  hurry  for  ? "  asked  Rory  \ 
"  sure  you  are  not  goin'  yet  ?  "  This  was  said  in  pure  hos' 
pitality,  for  Rory  did  not  like  the  old  cynic. 

"  Yis,  yis — you've  had  enough  of  me." 

"Well,"  said  Rory,  "  plaze  yourself  and  you'll  live  th« 
longer." 

"  Throth,  thin,  the  more  one  lives,  the  more  one  won- 
dhers,"  said  Solomon.  Rory,  rti^vV,"  added  he,  "will  you 
go  and  get  me  the  ass  ? " 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Rory,  w^ho  went  to  the  outhouse, 
where  the  ass  had  been  enjoying  a  good  feed,  as  well  as  his 
master.  Reloading  him  with  his  panniers,  containing 
Solomon's 

' '  Nippers,  twisters,  sand,  and  resin, " 

as  well  as  the  three  ancient  pots  and  pans,  Rory  led  the 
animal  forth  to  where  Solomon  stood  awaiting  his  approach 
before  the  door  of  the  cottage  ;  and  when  Rory  halted  the 
beast  before  him,  the  old  tinker  began  very  carefully  to 
examine  every  particular  of  his  ass's  furniture  and  appen- 
dages, not  forgetting  the  three  old  rusty  kettles  that  dan- 
gled from  the  straddle. 

Rory  inquired  if  anything  was  wrong.  "Oh,  it's  no 
harm  to  see  if  all's  right,"  said  Solomon. 


RORY  O'MORE.  185 

•■  Why,  why  wouldn't  it  be  right  ?  "  said  Rory.  "  Haven't 
I  put  on  this  sthraddle  and  panniers,  and  kittles,  often 
enough  before  ?" 

"  Oh,  yis — but  I  was  only  seein' — one,  two,  three — I  was 
only  seein'  if  all  was  safe  ;  one  can't  be  too  sure  these 
times — one,  two,  three,"  and  he  very  carefully  repeated  his 
scrutiny  of  the  three  old  kettles  as  he  leisurely  pronounced 
"one,  two,  three." 

Rory's  attention  was  aroused  by  this  repetition  of  words 
which  were  the  signal  to  the  smuggler ;  and  fancying  for 
a  moment  that  Solomon  might  have  discovered  his  agency 
in  the  affair,  he  became  very  uneasy,  and  said  : 

"  What  do  you  mane  by  reckoning  over  one,  two,  three, 
so  often  ?  " 

"  Oh,  these  is  quare  times,"  said  Solomon. 

This  increased  Rory's  uneasiness.  "  How  do  you  mane  ? " 
said  he. 

"And  a  quare  world,  so  it  is — one,  two,  three." 

"What  the  dickens  are  you  at  with  your  'one,  two, 
three  ?'  "  said  Rory,  whose  anxiety  increased. 

"Only  jist  seein'  that  my  property's  safe,"  said  Solo- 
mon, giving  a  look  at  Rory,  which  our  hero  could  not 
understand,  for,  his  mind  still  reverting  to  the  signals, 
could  not  reach  the  meaning  which  Solomon  wished  to 
convey,  and  he  was  yet  unsatisfied  what  Solomon's  reckon- 
ing the  kettles  meant.  However,  as  the  tinker  went 
through  that  process  again,  and  still  repeated  "  one,  two, 
three,"  Rory  said,  impatiently  : 

"  Tare  an'  ouns  !  is  it  thim  owld  kittles  you're  reckonin' 


agm  ? ' 

<< 


Jist  countin'  thim — is  there  any  harm  in  that?  "said 
the  tinker  ;  "it's  better  be  sure  than  sorry." 

"  Countin'  thim  !  "  said  Rory,  looking  at  him  with  all  his 
eyes.  "  Why,  sure  you  never  had  more  or  three  owld  rusty 
kittles  in  your  life  ;  and  they're  so  well  known  over  the 
counthry,  that  no  one  would  think  to  make  their  own  of 
thim,  supposin'  they  wor  worth  stalin." 

"  Oh,  some  people  has  quare  tastes  for  what  belongs  to 
other  people,"  said  Solomon,  significantly — one,  two,  three 
-—and  a  kittle  might  tickle  some  people's  fancy." 

"  The  divil  tickle  you  and  your  fancy,"  said  Rory,  wax' 
ing  angry.  "Why,  barrin'  one  wanted  to  hunt  a  mad  dog 
with  it,  bad  luck  to  the  use  anyone  would  h-ave  with  your 
owld  kittles." 

"Maybe  so,"  said  Solomon,  with erreat composure  ;  "but 


i86  RORY    O'MORE. 

you  see,"  he  added,  "  some  people  is  so  liandy  at  staling  a 
pair  o'  ducks,  that  no  one  knows  but  my  poor  kittles  might 
go  asthray  ;"  and  he  cast  a  most  provoking  glance  at  Rory. 
As  quick  as  lightning  the  truth  flashed  upon  O'More's 
mind,  that  the  frolic  at  the  fair  had  been  misrepresented  ; 
and  though  glad  to  find  his  fears  regarding  the  discovery 
of  the  signals  were  unfounded,  yet  with  flushed  cheek  and 
dilated  eye,  he  said  in  a  tone  in  which  wounded  pride  more 
than  anger  was  predominant,  "  What  do  you  mane  ?" 

"Oh,  laste  said  is  soonest  mended,"  said  the  tinker; 
"one,  two,  three  ;  I  see  they're  all  safe.  Good-evenin'  to 
you,  Rory." 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Rory,  confronting  him  ;  "  explain  to  me 
your  dark  meaning,  and  don't  lave  an  affront  at  the  door 
you  were  always  welkim  at." 

"  Flow  have  I  affronted  you  ? "  said  Solomon,  whose 
frigid  coolness  of  age  was  in  startling  relief  to  the  excited 
fervor  of  the  young  man  who  stood  before  him. 

"You  made  a  dark  hint  jist  now,"  said  Rory. 

"Make  light  of  it,  Rory,  7iia  bouchal"  said  the  tinker, 
taking  the  halter  of  his  ass  in  token  of  departure. 

"  You  shan't  go  that  way,"  said  Rory,  beginning  to  lose 
his  temper  ;  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  old  man's  shoulder 
in  the  action  of  detention,  but  at  the  same  time  with  a 
proper  degree  of  deference  to  his  age. 

"  And  is  it  stoppin'  a  man  on  tlie  road  you  are  now  '  " 
said  the  tinker,  with  a  low,  spiteful  chuckle  ;  "  throth, 
you're  improvin'  fast  !  "  and  he  attempted  to  pass  Rory, 
who  now,  losing  all  control  of  himself,  said  : 

"  Bad  luck  to  you,  you  cruked,  spiteful,  sawdhering  owld 
thief  !  how  dar'  you  say  the  like  to  an  honest  man's  son  • 
Stop  on  the  road,  indeed  ! — stale  ducks  !  Is  it  Regan  that 
has  the  black  heart  to  say  I  stole  his  ducks  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know  it,  thin  !  "  said  Solomon,  becoming  pro- 
voked in  turn. 

"  Know  it  !  "  said  Rory,  seeing  his  drift  ;  "it's  well  for 
you  you're  past  bating,  you  owld  cracked  bottle  of  vinegar 
that  you  are  !  or  I'd  thrash  you  within  an  inch  o'  your 
life.  Away  wid  you,  you  old  sarpent !  "  and  he  flung  him 
from  him. 

The  old  tinker  staggered  back,  and  made  a  great  clatter 
as  he  reeled  against  his  old  kettles  ;  but,  recovering  him- 
self, he  led  awa)'  his  ass,  saying  to  Rory,  however,  before 
he  went,  "  I  hear  they  vvor  uncommon  fine  ducks  !  " 

Rory  was  startled  by  this  last   expression — the   second 


ROIiY   O' 31  ORE.  iZ'i 

part  of  the  signal  given  to  De  Wclskein.  Was  it  chance  ? 
or  did  the  old  tinker  mix  up  the  slander  of  Regan,  and  im- 
ply his  knowledge  of  Rory's  mission,  in  the  same  breath, 
to  puzzle  him  ?  While  he  was  standing  in  this  state  of  per- 
plexity and  vexation,  De  Lacy  came  up  to  liim  unperccivcd 
— for  Rory  was  looking  after  the  tinker,  whose  last  words 
De  Lacy  had  heard  and  was  attracted  by  ;  and  accosting 
Rory,  who  was  taken  by  surprise,  said  : 

"  Does  that  old  rascal  know  anything  about  our  affairs  ?  " 

"Faith,  I  dunna  if  he  does,"  said  Rory,  with  an  air  of 
abstraction  that  struck  De  Lacy  as  peculiar. 

"  Is  it  not  strange  that  he  should  use  the  words  of  our 
private  signal  ? " 

"  Faix,  an'  it  is,  and  it  bothered  myself  at  first,"  said 
Rory,  "  when  he  said  it  ;  but  I  think,  afther  all,  he  knows 
nothing  about  it,  and  that  he  only  spoke  it  by  chance,  and 
meant  something  else  intirely." 

"What  else  could  he  allude  to  ?  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"  I'll  tell  you  about  it,  sir,  another  time,"  answered  Rory  : 
*'  for  it's  a  long  story,  and  you'd  betther  not  wait  for  it 
now,  as  Mr.  Devilskin  is  in  the  house  waitin'  for  you." 

"  De  Welskein  ?  "  said  De  Lacy,  who  entered  the  cottage 
as  he  uttered  the  name. 

"  Bon  Jour,  citoyen  capitaine"  was  the  address  of  the  smug- 
gler to  De  Lacy,  who  welcomed  him  in  return  ;  the  smug- 
gler continuing  to  address  him  in  French,  desired  a  private 
interview  ;  De  Lacy  pointed  to  his  bedroom,  and  the  French- 
man entered  the  apartment.  De  Lacy  followed,  and,  as 
soon  as  they  were  in  the  room,  De  Welskein  pointed  to  the 
lock. 

"There  is  no  necessity,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  said  De  Welskein,  with  a 
very  significant  shake  of  the  head,  and  one  of  the  keen  and 
cunning  glances  of  his  dark  eye. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  said  De  Lacy.  The  Frenchman 
laid  his  finger  on  his  lip,  to  impress  the  necessity  of  silence  ; 
and  though  still  speaking  his  own  language,  which  was  a 
sufficient  guarantee  for  secrecy  in  an  Irish  cabin,  yet  the 
importance  of  what  he  had  to  communicate  was  so  great 
that  he  placed  his  mouth  close  to  De  Lacy's  ear,  and  said, 
m  the  most  curious  tone  :  "There  is  a  traitor  !  " 

"  A  traitor  !  "  echoed  De  Lacy.  The  Frenchman  nodded 
assent,  and  added,  "  We  are  betrayed." 

De  Lacy  thought  of  the  words  he  heard  Solomon  utter, 
and  said,  quickly,  "  That  rascally  old  tinker  ?  " 


iS8  RORY  O'MORE. 

"  Vicux  chaudronnier  de  cainpagne  ?     No,  no." 
"  Who,  then  ?  "  asked  De  Lacy.     De  Welskein  subdued 
his  voice  to  the  lowest  whisper,  and  said,  "  Rory  O'More  !  " 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

A  Trial  of  Temper  and  a  Trial  by  Battle. 

When  De  Lacy  entered  the  house,  he  left  Rory  standing 
without,  looking  after  the  spiteful  old  tinker,  with  his  teeth 
set  and  his  hands  clinched  ;  and  coidd  he  at  the  moment 
have  encountered  Regan,  and  had  his  blow  been  gifted 
with  death,  he  would  have  struck  him — so  fearfully  are 
generous  natures  excited  on  the  sudden  by  insult  ;  for 
that  the  malicious  story  emanated  from  Regan  he  had  no 
doubt. 

But  a  few  minutes  calmed  the  fierceness  of  his  passion, 
though  he  changed  not  his  belief  as  to  the  promulgator 
of  the  scandal  ;  and  when  he  reflected  that  it  was  the 
brother  of  the  girl  he  loved  who  was  the  offender,  it  per- 
plexed him  how  to  act  under  the  circumstances.  Should 
he  tamely  submit  to  such  an  insinuation  against  his  char- 
acter ?  Against  this  his  nature  rebelled  ;  yet  to  make  a 
wider  breach  with  Regan  was  what  he  would  wish  to  escape, 
for  Kathleen's  sake.  To  balance  these  considerations 
quietly  in  his  own  mind,  he  walked  down  to  the  river, 
where,  undisturbed,  he  might  take  a  ruminating  ramble. 

In  the  meanwhile  De  Welskein  was  closeted  with  De 
Lacy,  who,  when  he  heard  the  charge  against  Rory,  con- 
nected with  the  singularity  of  the  words  he  had  overheard 
the  tinker  utter,  and  Rory's  seeming  confusion  at  the  time, 
was  shaken  for  a  moment  by  the  suddenness  and  distinct- 
ness of  the  accusation  against  him  ;  but  as  soon  as  he  had 
time  to  recover  from  the  surprise,  his  better  judgment  ac- 
quitted Rory  of  the  guilt  with  which  he  was  charged. 

He  told  De  Welskein  it  was  impossible  ;  that  he  knew 
Rory  well,  that  he  was  of  a  chivalrous  nature,  above  the 
taint  of  so  foul  a  thing  as  treachery,  and  he  would  stake 
his  life  on  his  fidelity. 

"You've  done  that  already,"  said  De  Welskein. 

"And  would  do  it  again,"  replied  De  Lacy. 

"You  don't  know  these  Irish,"  said  the  smuggler. 

"  Better  than  you  do,"  answered  De  Lacy,  warmly. 


RORY  O'MORE.  189 

"  They  are  full  of  finesse,"  said  the  other. 

"They  are  driven  to  it  by  ages  of  misrule  and  oppres- 
sion," said  De  Lacy  ;  "  it  is  their  only  protection  against 
the  heartless  persecution  they  are  open  to  on  every  side  ; 
and  if  the  strong,  by  their  tyranny,  force  the  weak  into  the; 
last  retreat  left  open  to  them,  on  them  be  the  guilt  of  the 
habits  they  have  engendered  !  Blind  as  they  are  cruel, 
their  rulers,  while  they  have  made  them  crafty,  will  not  see 
the  noble  traits  that  are  still  left  them — generosity,  courage, 
devotion  to  those  whom  they  can  respect  and  trust,  and  a 
high  sense  of  honor,  which  even  yet  survives  all  that  has 
been  done  to  crush  it  in  their  natures,  and  resists  even  the 
contrary  example  in  their  oppressors." 

Thus  spoke  De  Lacy,  who  could  not  contain  his  indig- 
nation when  such  a  fellow  as  De  Welskein,  whose  natuns 
was  only  sensitive  to  the  faults  with  which  he  could  sym» 
pathize,  dared  to  undervalue  a  people  whose  finer  traitAs 
were  above  his  comprehension. 

"Believe  me,  they  are  as  cunning  as  foxes,"  said  De: 
Welskein. 

"  I  know  they  are,"  replied  De  Lacy,  "  and  they  have 
every  need  of  their  cunning,  as  the  fox  has  among  hi."* 
hunters.  But  say  no  more  against  the  Irish — you  forge^ 
that  I  am  an  Irishman  myself." 

"But  monsieur  has  had  the  advantage  of  a  French  edu  ■ 
cation,"  said  the  smuggler,  smirking. 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  me,"  De  Lacy  \\?i.sgoitig  to  say  ' 
but,  checking  himself  when  he  remembered  the  nature  of 
the  rascal  to  whom  he  spoke,  he  contented  himself  by  saying, 
"Don't  flatter  yourself  I'm  the  better  of  that.  In  short," 
added  he,  "  you  speak  in  vain  to  me  if  you  seek  to  dis- 
parage the  Irish  as  a  nation  ;  but  in  the  particular  case  of 
Rory  O'More,  I  would  sooner  depend  on  his  faith  and 
honor  than  many  a  king  I  could  name." 

"  A  king  !  "  said  De  Welskein,  in  a  tone  of  contempt ;  "  I 
believe  so,  indeed  !  " 

"Or  the  French  Directory,  either,"  added  De  Lacy. 

"Sacref"  exclaimed  the  smuggler. 

"  Say  no  more,  De  Welskein  ;  it  is  as  impossible  that 
Rory  O'More  could  be  a  traitor,  as  that  Hoche  could  be  a 
coward."  De  Welskein  seized  on  the  name  of  Hoche,  and 
repeating  it,  said,  with  his  eyes  fixed  inio  De  Lacy's  : 

"  A  propos  of  General  Hoche  :  I  sent  you  a  letter  from 
him — did  you  get  it  ? " 

"  No,"  said  De  Lac^,  calmly. 


I  go  RORY   O'MORE. 

The  manifest  composure  of  De  Lacy's  manner  undei 
the  circumstances  of  such  a  piece  of  intelligence  being 
communicated  puzzled  the  Frenchman,  who,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  however,  continued: 

"  You  did  not  get  that  letter  ?  " 

De  Lacy  repeated  his  negative. 

"Then,"  said  De  Welskein,  assuming  a  triumphant  man- 
ner, "  I  sent  you  such  a  letter  by  that  immaculate  friend 
of  yours." 

"  I  know  you  did,"  said  De  Lacy. 

This  utterly  confounded  the  Frenchman,  who,  after  a 
short  pause,  said,  "  And  why  have  you  not  seen  it  ?  " 

"  Because  O'More  destroyed  it." 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  said  the  Frenchman,  exultantly  ;  "  he  tells 
)'Ou  so  ;  are  you  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure,"  said  De  Lacy. 

**  Do  you  know  that  he  gave  private  information  to  the 
coionel  of  the  town,  to  save  himself  from  being  flogged  !" 
'I  do." 

De  Welskein  seemed  quite  crestfallen  that  all  his  intelli- 
gence, which  he  expected  to  swamp  De  Lacy,  seemed  to 
run  off  him  as  freely  as  water  from  a  duck's  feathers. 

It  was  now  the  smuggler's  turn  to  wonder  ;  and  in  reply 
to  his  numerous  questions,  De  Lacy  informed  him  of  all 
the  circumstances  necessary  to  the  explanation  of  Rory's 
closet  scene  with  the  colonel. 

"  But,"  said  the  Frenchman,  with  the  hope  of  having 
one  startling  fact  to  advance  of  which  he  fancied  De  Lacy 
was  ignorant,  "do  you  know  that  the  colonel  gave  hitn  a 
^ass?" 

*'  Yes,"  said  De  Lacy. 

This  last  monosyllable  ^^annihilated"  the  Frenchman,  as 
he  would  have  said  himself  ;  or,  as  Rory  O'More  would 
have  exemplified  it,    "  he   hadn't   a   word    to   throw  to  a 

dog-" 

Now  it  is  necessary  to  explain  how  all  this  suspicion  of 

Rory's  conduct  arose  ;  and,  to  do  everybody  justice,  De 

Welskein  was  not  to  blame  in  the  matter. 

Let  it  be  remembered,  that  when  Rory  was  brought  up 
for  examination  before  the  colonel,  there  was  another  pris- 
oner present,  who  was  one  of  tlie  visitors  to  De  Welskein's 
cellar,  and  that  mutual  recognition  had  taken  place  be- 
tween him  and  our  hero  in  the  guard-house. 

This  man  was  aware  also  of  what  occurred  at  Rory's  ex- 
amination— of  the  threat  of  flogging — of  the  room  being 


RORY   O'MORE.  191 

cleared  when  Rory  said  he  had  something  to  communicate 
Lo  the  colonel  in  private — of  the  fact  of  Rory  being  pro- 
nounced free  as  soon  as  the  room  was  reopened — and  not 
only  free,  but  favored  with  a  pass — enough  to  damn  his 
fair  fame  with  all  the  rebels  in  Ireland. 

All  this  had  been  communicated  to  De  Welskein  through 
the  friends  of  this  fellow,  Betty's  husband,  who  was  a  very 
knowing  hand  in  assisting  De  Welskein's  smuggling 
schemes,  and  was  a  United  man  to  boot ;  and  from  certain 
circumstances  coming  within  the  knowledge  of  Scrubbs, 
he  was  detained  in  prison  to  be  prosecuted  for  his  smug- 
gling ofifences  by  the  collector.  Now,  circumstances,  in 
their  outward  form,  bore  strongly  against  Rory  ;  and  nei- 
ther the  prisoner  nor  De  Welskein  could  be  blamed  for 
looking  with  a  suspicious  eye  upon  the  unexplained  libera- 
tion of  our  hero. 

However,  De  Welskein  was  made  quite  easy  by  the  ex- 
planation of  De  Lacy,  who  charged  him  particularly  to  re- 
move from  the  minds  of  all  those  who  were  impressed  with 
the  belief  of  Rory's  treachery,  every  trace  of  doubt  as  to 
his  fidelity. 

This  being  done,  De  Welskein  left  the  cottage  before 
Rory's  return,  which  did  not  take  place  until  late — for 
Rory  was  so  undecided,  after  all  his  deliberation,  how  he 
should  act  with  respect  to  Regan,  that  it  was  only  the 
deepening  shades  of  evening  which  warned  him  home- 
ward. 

On  his  return,  he  heard  he  had  been  inquired  for  by  the 
scholar,  so  he  tapped  at  his  apartment,  and  announced  his 
presence  to  De  Lacy,  who  invited  him  to  enter,  and  bid- 
ding him  close  the  door,  communicated  all  that  had  oc- 
curred between  him  and  De  Welskein. 

Rory  was  indignant  that  anyone  should  suppose  //////  so 
base  as  to  be  guilty  of  the  crime  of  treachery  ;  and  even 
when  De  Lacy  pointed  out  to  him  the  strong  circumstan- 
tial evidence  against  him,  Rory  only  exclaimed  : 

"To  the  divil  with  their  evidence  !  I  never  knew  evi- 
dence of  any  good,  but  to  ruin  a  man's  characther." 

And  indeed  Rory's  opinion  of  evidence  is  but  too  often 
borne  out  by  fact. 

De  Lacy  endeavored  to  calm  him,  but  it  was  with  much 
difficulty  he  at  last  succeeded.  Then  Rory,  in  answer  to 
De  Lacy's  questions  about  Solomon's  allusion  to  the  "  un- 
common fine  ducks,"  told  him  the  circumstances  of  the 
frolic  at  the  fair,  wiiich^he  and  Marv,  for  prudential  mo- 


192  RORY  O  MORE. 

lives,  had  previously  agreed  to  say  nothing  about  ;  and  fur- 
ther communicated  Regan's  baseness  in  saying  that  he  had 
stolen  the  ducks  : 

'*  And  I  wouldn't  wondher/'  said  Rory,  "  if  the  black- 
hearted villain  was  at  the  bottom  o'  this,  too." 

De  Lacy  assured  him  Regan's  name  had  never  been 
mentioned  in  the  business  ;  but  Rory  declared,  that  as  he 
found  people  were  goin'  about  to  "  take  away  his  char- 
acter, he  would  not  let  it  pass  with  Regan  what  he  had 
said  ;  for  how  could  he  know  the  beginnin*  or  end  of  such 
things  ?  and  so  the  safest  way  was  to  make  Regan  ate  his 
words  first." 

To  do  Rory  justice,  his  walk  by  the  river  had  tended  to 
cool  his  anger  a  good  deal,  and  he  was  rather  inclined 
to  trust  to  the  public  for  a  proper  estimation  of  his 
character,  and  to  leave  the  slander  of  Regan  unnoticed, 
when  the  fresh  information  he  received  from  De  Lacy 
added  fuel  to  the  fire  which  had  been  reduced  to  embers  ; 
and  all  Rory's  indignation  blazed  up  afresh,  and  confirmed 
him  in  the  determination  to  ascertain  if  Regan  had  been 
traducing  him — and  if  he  had,  to  shame  him,  by  con- 
fronting him  openly  and  giving  a  public  contradiction  to 
the  private  slander  with  which  he  had  sought  to  blast 
him. 

.  Rory's  unsatisfied  cravings  to  be  justified  sent  him  to 
bed  in  a  fever.  He  was  tortured  by  a  night  of  dreaming, 
in  which  fancy  played  the  tormentor.  Alternately  the 
grin  of  old  Solomon,  or  the  penetrating  eye  of  De  Wel- 
skein,  confronted  him  ;  and  guard-rooms  and  cellars, 
empty  streets,  crowded  fairs,  old  rusty  kettles,  and  roast- 
ing ducks,  were  huddled  together  in  strange  confusion. 
The  ducks  were  the  favorites  of  his  dream  :  he  was 
haunted  by  a  pair  all  night — twirl  they  went  before  him, 
till  he  twirled  and  twisted  in  his  sleep  as  if  he  were  roast- 
ing too  ;  and  his  mind,  with  the  ingenious  art  of  torment- 
ing which  dreaming  bestows  upon  it,  easily  converted 
dangling  ducks  into  hanging  criminals,  who,  by  a  sudden 
transition,  were  condensed  into  one,  and  that  one  became 
identified  with  himself,  whom  he  imagined  condemned  to 
be  hanged  for  robbery,  and  brought  out  to  execution, 
with  all  the  eyes  of  his  friends  and  acquaintances  staring 
upon  him,  until  the  overwhelming  sense  of  degradation 
and  shame  awoke  him.  In  vain  he  strove  to  sleep  ;  night 
brouglit  no  rest  to  poor  Rory,  and  the  dawn  saw  him  a« 
early  and  unrefreshed  riser. 


RORY   O'MORE.  iq| 

Immediately  after  quitting  his  bed,  he  started  on  hia 
xour  of  discovery,  and  finding  his  suspicion  as  to  the 
author  of  the  calumny  against  him  not  imfounded,  at  once 
determined  on  the  course  he  should  pursue.  Waiting 
imtil  the  follov^ing  Sunday,  he  proceeded  to  the  chapel  at 
the  side  of  the  country  where  Regan  resided,  which  he 
knew  to  be  the  most  likely  place  to  meet  him,  and  cer- 
tainly the  most  public.  For  Regan,  though  a  disorderly 
person,  attend'^d  mass  with  punctuality  :  indeed,  so  strict 
is  the  observance  of  attendance  at  public  worship  on  the 
part  of  the  Irish  peasantry,  that  the  man  must  be  very  far 
gone  in  crime  who  disregards  it.  There  was  an  additional 
reason,  too,  for  Rory  selecting  the  day  and  the  place  for 
his  purpose  :  after  the  celebration  of  the  mass,  the  con- 
gregation do  not  immediately  disperse,  but  assemble 
round  the  building  outside,  forming  a  sort  of  social 
"  change,"  where  those  who  have  not  seen  each  other  for 
the  by-gone  week  barter  civilities,  and  the  current  gossip 
of  the  day  is  passed  about. 

To  the  chapel,  therefore,  Rory  repaired  on  the  Sunday 
after  his  meeting  with  the  tinker,  in  company  with  three 
or  four  companions,  whom  he  wished  to  be  witnesses  of 
liis  reproval  of  Regan  for  his  unhandsome  conduct  toward 
him  ;  and  when  the  mass  was  ended,  he  and  his  friends 
sought  about  in  the  crowd,  as  they  stood  in  detached 
groups  over  the  road  about  the  chapel,  and  at  length  he 
perceived  Regan  talking  and  laughing,  the  loudest  of  a 
noisy  cluster  of  rollicking  young  fellows  who  were  crack- 
ing jokes  on  the  old  men,  and  saying  half-complimentary, 
half-impudent  things  to  the  young  women  who  passed  by 
them. 

Rory  walked  directly  up  to  Regan  :  and  there  was  so 
close  sympathy  between  Regan's  conscience  and  Rory's 
look,  that  the  former  changed  color  as  the  latter  made  a 
dead  stand  before  him,  and  looked  him  straight  in  the 
face,  with  the  bright  and  open  eye  that  bears  evidence  of 
an  honest  heart.  There  was  a  moment's  silence,  after 
which  Rory  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Regan,"  said  he,  "  you  have  not  used  me  well — and 
you  know  it." 

"  I  know  little  of  anything  consarning  you,  and  I  wish 
to  know  less,"  replied  Regan,  as  he  turned  on  his  heel, 
and  was  going  away ;  but  Rory  laid  his  hand  upon  him, 
and  said,  firmly  : 

"  Regan,  that  won't  do  !     You've  said  things  of  me  be- 


194  RORY   O'MORE. 

hind  backs,  and  I  come  to  contradict  before  faces  ;  and 
them  that  knows  both  of  us  is  here  to  the  fore,  to  judge 
between  us." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  man  ? "  said  Regaa 
with  a  swaggering  air  that  but  ill  concealed  his  uneas- 
iness. 

"You  know  well  what  I'm  talkin'  about,"  answered 
Rory,  "  and  so  does  them  that  hears  me.  Was  it  good, 
Regan,  to  put  an  ugly  turn  on  an  innocent  thrick  at  a  fair, 
and  say  I  stole  your  ducks  ?  I — your  owld  playmate  and 
the  son  of  dacent  people,  that  never  disgraced  them,  nor 
never  will,  plaze  God  !  " 

"  And  didn't  you  take  them  ? "  said  Regan,  with  savage 
effrontery. 

"Ay,  take"  said  Rory;  "but,  was  take  the  word  you 
used  behind  my  back  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  to  pick  my  words  for  sitch  as  you,"  said 
Regan,  who  began  to  recover  the  faint  twinge  of  shame 
that  abashed  him  at  Rory's  first  appearance,  and  seemed 
now  determined  to  brazen  out  the  affair. 

"  Well,  I  neither  pick,  nor  stale  either,"  said  Rory,  "and 
whoever  says  to  the  conthrairy  hasn't  the  thruth  in  them. 
And  here  I  have  come  this  blessed  day,  and  am  afther 
hearin'  the  blessed  mass  ;  and  it's  not  at  this  time,  and  in. 
this  place,  I  would  lay  the  weight  of  a  lie  on  my  soul  ;  and 
yiz  are  all  here  round  me  and  hears  me,  and  let  them 
deny  me  who  can  ;  and  I  say  to  your  face,  Regan,  that 
what  you've  been  givin'  out  on  me  is  not  the  truth.  I 
wouldn't  use  a  harder  word  to  an  owld  friend — though 
we're  cooler  of  late." 

"  What  do  you  mane  by  harder  words  ?  "  said  Regan, 
with  a  menacing  air. 

"  Don't  look  so  angry,  Regan.  I  didn't  come  here  this 
quiet  and  blessed  day  to  fight ;  I  only  kem  to  clear  my- 
self in  the  face  o'  the  world  ;  and  having  done  that,  I  have 
no  more  to  say — and  so  let  me  go  my  ways  in  pace  and 
quietness."  And  Rory  was  turning  away,  but  Regan  pre- 
vented him  ;  and  now  all  his  bad  passions  gaining  the  as- 
cendency, he  said  : 

"  If  you  mane  by  'harder  words,'  to  say  that  you  come 
here  to  give  me  the  lie,  it's  what  I  won't  let  you  or  any 
man  do,  and  if  that's  your  plan,  I  can  tell  you  I'll  thrust 
your  impudent  words  down  your  throat  with  my  fist !  "  and 
he  clinched  his  hand  fiercely  in  Rory's  face. 

"Regan,"  said  Rory,  commanding  himself,  "  I  towld  you 


RORY   O'MORE.  195 

I  didn't  come  here  to  fight,  but  to  clear  myself.  Them 
that  knows  us  both  hears  me  clear  myself,  and  that's 
enough  for  me." 

"  Faith,  you're  like  your  sister,  my  buck  !  "  said  Regan ; 
"both  o'  vis  will  go  just  half-ways  with  a  man." 

"  Reean  !  "  exclaimed  Rorv  with  an  honest  vehemence 
that  forced  him  to  hear  him  till  he  finished  his  sentence, 
"  the  black  dhrop  is  in  you,  or  you  wouldn't  say  an  ill 
word  of  a  dacent  girl  that  never  wronged  you  !  She  nevei' 
liked  you,  Regan — and  you  know  it.  She  never  wint  half- 
ways  with  you — and  you  know  it ;  and  now  to  your  teeth 
I  tell  you,  you're  a  slandherous  liar,  and  you  know  it!" 

The  word  had  hardly  passed  Rory's  lips,  when  a  tre- 
mendous blow  from  Regan  was  aimed  at  him,  which  Rory 
avoided  by  nimbly  springing  beyond  its  reach  ;  and  Regan 
left  himself  so  open  by  his  wild  attack,  that  our  hero  put 
in  a  hit  so  well  directed  that  his  ruffianly  foe  was  felled 
to  the  earth.  He  rose  immediately,  however,  foaming 
with  rage,  and  was  rushing  on  Rory  with  tremendous 
fur)',  when  the  by-standers  closed  in  between  the  comba- 
tants, and  it  was  suggested  by  some  that  hostilities  should 
proceed  no  further  ;  while  others  proposed  that  if  the  men 
were  bent  on  fighting,  it  would  be  best  to  adjourn  to  some 
adjacent  field  and  strip  for  the  encounter.  Regan's  friends 
were  for  the  latter  course  ;  while  the  better  disposed  en- 
deavored to  dissuade  Rory  from  exchanging  any  blows. 
But  Rory  was  high  mettled  ;  he  said  they  all  could  bear 
witness,  he  strove  as  far  as  he  could  to  prevent  matters 
going  to  such  extremities  ;  but,  as  the  case  stood,  he'd 
never  let  it  be  said  that  an  O'More  refused  to  fight.  "  I'd 
rather  'twas  any  day  but  Sunday,  to  be  sure,"  said  Rory  ; 
"but  I  heer'd  mass  ;  so,  having  done  my  duty  to  God,  I'm 
ready  to  do  my  duty  to  man — and  in  throth  I'll  do  my 
best  to  plaze  him,"  said  he,  throwing  off  the  upper  part  of 
his  dress  lightly,  and  laughing.  "  I've  the  good  cause  on 
my  side,  anyhow  ;  so  see  fair  play,  boys,  and  let  him  do  his 
worst." 

Great  interest  was  excited  by  the  approaching  contest. 
Regan  had  the  reputation  of  a  bruiser,  and  was  rather  in- 
clined to  take  advantage  of  it  when  he  had  to  deal  with 
those  who  permitted  such  a  practice  ;  and  the  report  hav^ 
ing  gone  abroad  that  he  had  been  worsted  by  Rory  in  the 
trifling  turn-up  at  the  fair,  gave  rise  to  various  opinions 
on  the  subject. 

Let  not  this  surprise  the  reader — it  was  an  event  among 


/gS  7?0/^V  O'MORE. 

tl;e  village  population  ;  to  those  who  are  beyond  the  reach 
of  more  exciting  objects,  the  fall  of  a  favorite  fighter  is  of 
as  much  importance  as  the  fall  of  a  minister. 

The  companions  of  Regan  protested  the  impossibility  of 
Rory's  conquest  over  their  champion,  but  for  the  chance 
of  his  being  in  liquor  at  the  time  ;  and  the  friends  of  Rory 
— that  is  to  say,  the  bulk  of  the  community — looked  for- 
ward to  the  approaching  fight  with  a  degree  of  dread  that 
there  misfht  be  too  much  truth  in  the  assertion,  and  that 
Rory  was  about  to  lose  his  newly-acquired  laurels,  which 
they  had  been  flourishing  in  the  teeth  of  Regan's  party 
with  that  sort  of  second-hand  triumph  people  always  in- 
dulge in  when  some  "cock  of  the  walk"  has  been  well 
plucked.  They  feared  the  moment  was  come  which  should 
lob  them  of  the  opportunity  of  saying,  "  Phoo  !  Regan  in- 
cJeed  !     Arrah,  sure  Rory  O'More  leathered  him  !  " 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  a  boxing-match  ;  it  has 
been  often  better  done  than  I  could  do  it  ;  and  the  better 
i/;  has  been  done,  the  more  I  have  always  wished  it  had 
Iceen  left  undone. 

Of  the  result,  all  that  need  be  said  is,  that  Regan  was, 
savage  and  Rory,  knowing  the  power  of  his  adversary,  cau- 
t'lous.  This,  and  his  activity,  did  wonders  for  him  ;  and  after 
SDme  furious  hitting  from  Regan,  which  Rory  sometimes 
|*uarded  and  sometimes  broke  away  beyond  reach  of,  Regan 
liegan  to  breathe  hard,  of  which  our  hero  took  advantage  ; 
the  tide  soon  turned  in  his  favor  ;  and  doubtless,  the  con- 
science of  either  of  the  combatants  had  no  insignificant  in- 
fluence upon  the  fight.  The  ultimate  consequence,  how- 
ever, was  that  Rory  again  triumphed  over  his  malignant 
adversary  ;  and  a  sullen  silence  on  the  part  of  a  disap- 
pointed few,  with  a  hearty  shout  from  the  exultant  many, 
declared  that  Regan  had  given  in,  and  Rory  O'More  was 
the  victor. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


Containing  De  Lacy's  Letter — Contrasting  the  Conditions  of  Ireland  and 

England. 

"  Look  here,  upon  this  picture — and  on  this." 

The  gloriotis  news  to  Britain  of  the  victory  of  the  nth 
of  October,  had  now  spread  rejoicing  over  England,  but 
caused  aching  to  many  a  heart  in  Ireland.    The  Texel  fleet 


ROEY   O'MORE. 


197 


was  conquered,  and  its  admiral  a  prisoner  in  England.  No 
more  chance  of  aid  might  be  loolced  for  from  that  quarter, 
and  for  a  short  time  the  hopes  of  the  United  Irishmen 
were  blighted. 

But  in  a  few  days  other  news  arrived  to  temper  the  se- 
verity of  this  blow  to  their  designs,  and  made  them  yet 
more  confident  of  assistance  from  France. 

Other  triumphs  than  Duncan's  filled  the  ear  of  Europe  , 
for  just  now  the  rapid  and  brilliant  succession  of  Bona- 
parte's victories  in  Italy  more  than  outweighed  the  naval 
conquest  of  Duncan  ;  and  Austria  saw,  one  after  another, 
her  experienced  generals  beaten  by  the  young  Corsican, 
and  her  veteran  armies  overwhelmed  by  the  raw  levies  oi 
impetuous  France.  The  i8th  of  October  witnessed  the 
failure  of  the  Bourbon  plot  in  the  assemblies  of  Paris  ; 
the  Clichy  Club  was  suppressed  ;  Pichegru  and  Carnol 
fled  ;  the  republic  again  triumphed  over  the  attempts  of 
the  Royalists,  and  was  once  more  secured  under  a  new  Di- 
rectory. Austria  was  forced  to  sign  a  peace  dictated  by 
the  enemy,  and  France  was  more  free  than  ever  to  pursue 
her  hostility  against  England.  Then  came  that  tremen- 
dous assembling  of  her  victorious  troops,  which  soon  after 
were  gathered  on  her  northern  shore,  under  the  denomi- 
nation of  the  "  Army  of  England;  "  and  then  was  threatened 
the  memorable  "invasion  "  that  occupied  all  the  attention 
of  Great  Britain. 

This  was  the  period  of  all  others  most  favorable  to  the 
views  of  the  Irish  republican  party  ;  and  De  Lacy,  seizing 
the  occasion,  despatched  a  letter  to  France,  urging  imme- 
diate aid  to  Ireland,  which  was  ripe  for  revolt. 

His  report  ran  as  follows  : 

"  My  last  letter  was  written  against  the  grain  ;  I  had  to 
tell  of  many  unexpected  truths,  evincing  England's  se- 
curity ;  but  now  my  words  flow  from  my  heart,  and  I  say, 
Strike  for  Ireland,  and  it  will  be  an  easy  victory. 

"  Here  all  is  ripe  for  revolution.  The  besotted  and  cruel 
intolerance  of  the  party  in  power,  and  the  deplorable 
wretchedness  and  long-suffering  of  the  neglected  and  op- 
pressed people,  cannot  go  any  further. 

"  The  former  cannot  be  greater  tyrants,  nor  the  latter 
greater  slaves  ;  the  one  party  cannot  add  greater  weight 
to  their  chain,  nor  the  other  ever  have  greater  cause  to 
wish  it  broken.  Come,  then,  and  strike  the  manacles  from 
the  bondsmen ! 


:98  RORY   O'MORE. 

"  This  is  indeed  the  land  of  misery  and  misrule  '■  How 
the  sister  island,  as  she  is  called,  of  Great  Britain,  can  be 
in  so  degraded  a  state,  while  England  revels  in  prosperity, 
is  one  of  those  enigmas  which  baffle  all  attempt  at  solution. 
In  contrast  to  tlie  state  of  England,  listen  to  a  rough 
sketch  of  the  condition  of  this  lovely  but  wretched  country. 

"One  striking  difference  between  the  two  islands  is,  that 
while  in  England  society  consists  of  many  grades,  sinking 
slightly  the  one  beneath  the  other,  but  presenting  no 
startling  difference  in  the  descent ;  in  Ireland  there  are 
but  two — the  upper  and  the  lower.  There  is  a  sort  of 
mongrel  middle  rank,  but  consisting  of  too  few  to  consti- 
tute anything  like  a  class,  in  comparison  with  the  others. 
In  England  there  are  many  degrees  between  the  peer  and 
the  peasant ;  but  not  so  here  ;  the  cementing  portions  of 
society  are  wanting  ;  the  wholesome  links  that  bind  it  to- 
gether exist  not  here  ;  in  short,  Ireland  may  be  comprised 
imder  two  great  heads — those  who  inflict,  and  those  who 
suffer. 

"  In  Ireland  the  aristocracy  seem  to  live  wholly  for  them- 
selves ;  the  poor  they  seem  to  consider  utterly  unworthy 
of  being  thought  of.  Look  at  the  English  tenantry — lived 
among  by  their  landlords,  and  their  comforts  cared  for  ,* 
while  the  poor  Irish  are  left  to  take  what  care  they  can 
of  themselves.  If  the  fever  visit  an  English  village,  there 
is  the  manor-house  to  apply  to,  whence  the  hand  of  afflu- 
ence can  be  stretched  forth  to  afford  the  comforts  which 
the  hour  of  sickness  demands.  If  the  typhus  rage  in  Ire- 
land, there  is  not  for  miles,  perhaps,  the  hall  of  a  pro- 
prietor to  look  to  ;  and  where  there  is,  it  is  vacant ;  grass 
grows  before  its  doors,  and  closed  shutters  say  to  the  desti- 
tute, '  No  help  have  you  here.  My  lord  spends  elsewhere 
the  gold  you  have  paid  to  his  agent,  and  his  wine-cellar 
is  not  to  be  invaded  by  a  pauper.'  His  claret  flows  freely 
midst  the  laugh  of  revelry,  but  may  not  retard  the  expiring 
sigh  of  some  dying  father  of  a  helpless  offspring.  '  Drain 
the  cask  dry  for  riot !' cries  the  bacchanal,  'and  let  the 
call  of  charity  be  echoed  back  by  the  empty  barrel ! ' 

"What  can  such  a  landlord  hope  for  from  his  neglected 
serf  ?  Is  it  to  be  expected  that  his  name  will  be  heard  with 
blessings  and  his  person  looked  upon  with  attachment,  or 
that  the  wholesome  link  between  landlord  and  tenant  can 
exist  under  such  a  state  of  things  ?  No  ;  they  are  not  be- 
ings of  the  same  community — man  and  the  beast  of  the 
field  are  not  more  distinct  than  these  two  classes  of  peo' 


1^0 RY   O'MORE.  191 

pie,  and  the  time  will  come  when  the  Irish  landlord  shaC 
bitterly  lament  that  the  only  bond  which  held  the  peasai.C 
to  his  master,  was  his  chain. 

"  Be  it  yours  to  hasten  this  epoch,  for  all  is  ripe  for 
change,  because  any  change  must  be  better  for  them — at 
least,  no  change  can  make  them  worse.  Therefore  are 
they  brands  ready  for  the  lighting. 

"  I  told  you  of  the  comforts  of  a  village  in  England. 
What  is  such  a  thing  in  Ireland  ? — an  irregular  jumble  of 
mud-hovels,  whose  thatch  has  been  so  long  without  repair 
that  its  decomposition  produces  vegetation  ;  and  you  may 
see  ragged  cocks  and  hens  feeding  on  the  roof  ;  a  pig  wal. 
lows  on  a  dung-hill  before  the  door  (lucky  when  they  havti 
one  !) — until  a  starved  cur,  roused  by  some  half  (or  whole) 
naked  children,  disturbs  him  from  his  place  of  enjoyment, 
and  drives  him  for  shelter  into  the  house,  whose  mistress 
protects  '  the  gintleman  that  pays  the  rint.'  I  heard  thp 
saying  of  a  'fool,'  or  'natural,'  as  they  call  idiots  in  this 
country,  which  amused  me  much  for  its  graphic  truth  ; 
his  definition  of  a  village  was  admirably  given  in  foivr 
words,  '  Pigs,  dogs,  dunghills,  and  blackguards  ! ' 

"The  hovels  of  the  Irish  peasantry  are  not  by  an]r 
means  so  good  as  the  stables  of  their  masters'  horses. 
The  lord  of  the  soil  would  not  let  his  hunter  sleep  in  the 
wretched  place  he  suffers  his  tenantry  to  dwell  in,  and  for 
which  he  receives  the  rent  that  supports  ki>n  in  his  waste- 
fulness. Nor  does  he  seek  to  better  their  condition  ;  anii 
if  a  murmer  of  discontent  escape  these  ill-used  people, 
they  are  branded  with  the  foulest  names,  and  the  guilty 
party  seeks,  by  heaping  abuse  and  calumny  on  those  whom 
he  injures,  to  justify  the  conduct  which  has  produced  the 
very  state  of  things  of  which  he  complains. 

"  I  spoke  of  the  English  peasant-children  playing  at 
cricket,  and  remarked  that  the  peasantry  must  be  in  a 
state  of  comfort  who  can  afford  to  buy  the  materials  of  play 
for  their  offspring.  What  is  the  Irish  game  among  the 
children  ? — an  imitation  of  the  manly  exercise  of  hurling, 
which  they  call  '  commons  ;'  this  is  nothing  more  than 
driving  a  stone  before  them  with  a  crooked  stick,  which  is 
cut  from  any  hedge  that  may  afford  it.  The  English  chil- 
dren took  off  their  clothes,  to  play ;  not  so  the  Irish,  and 
for  the  best  reason  in  the  world — because  they  had  no 
clothes  to  take  off  ;  they  are  nearly  all  in  a  state  of  nudity, 
and  even  when  not  quite  uncovered,  their  wretched  rags 
are  almost  worse  than  nakedness. 


200  J?ORY  O'MORE. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  conceive  human  nature  reduced  to 
so  great  a  state  of  privation  in  every  way  as  it  is  here  ; 
and  even  under  all  this  privation  they  are  merry,  and  I 
verily  believe  they  would  be  content,  only  they  are  goaded 
by  insult  and  oppression  into  the  bargain.  The  most 
active  of  their  persecutors  are  the  mongrel  middle  class 
to  whom  I  have  alluded — Squireens  they  are  called  by  the 
people.  These  fellows  have  not  an  idea  beyond  a  dog,  a 
gun,  a  horse,  and  the  pleasures  of  the  table.  They  are 
generally  the  descendents  of  Cromwell's  or  William's 
troopers,  and,  of  course,  are  the  fierce  upholders  of  the 
ascendency  which  gives  them  all  they  have.  But  they 
are  not  even  content  with  this  ;  they  must  revile  and 
malign  the  people  whom  their  forefathers  despoiled. 
They  are  the  toad-eaters  of  those  in  power,  to  whom  they 
bow,  and  from  whom  in  return  they  get  the  refuse  of  the 
sops  of  which  the  ascendant  party  have  the  dispensing. 

"  From  this  class  are  all  the  minor  fry  of  government 
officers  selected,  and  in  their  hands  is  the  magistracy 
throughout  the  country  vested.  The  consequence  is,  that 
the  people  have  not  the  shadow  of  justice  to  shelte^ 
under,  much  less  her  shield  :  the  law  of  the  land  (so- 
called),  as  it  is  administered  by  this  partisan  magistracy, 
is  not  the  poor  man's  friend,  but  his  foe.  So  they  are 
;ill  ready  to  upset  such  a  state  of  things  as  soon  as  they 
*;an.  Do  not  delay  this  epoch — I  repeat  it — strike  now, 
»ind  Ireland  shall  be  free  ! 

"  There  is  everything  ready  to  aid  in  the  enterprise. 
In  the  north,  the  organization  is  extensive,  and  arms  and 
ammunition  prepared  ;  and  it  is  there,  as  Tone  has  recom- 
mended, I  would  advise  the  descent  to  be  made. 

"  The  midland  counties  have  a  tolerably  well-organized 
union  also,  and  it  has  spread  to  the  west.  It  is  where  I 
am  at  present,  in  the  south,  that  there  is  less  of  prepara- 
tion for  revolt ;  but  the  spirit  to  be  free  is  everywhere, 
and  they  are  all  ready  to  rise  the  moment  they  have  a 
force  of  disciplined  troops  landed,  to  form  a  nucleus 
round  which  they  may  gather. 

"  Some  time  it  will  take,  of  course,  to  make  them  good 
soldiers  ;  but  they  are  very  quick,  and  in  a  cause  in  which 
their  hearts  lay,  would  soon  make  available  troops.  The 
great  requisites  for  a  soldier  they  possess  in  a  superemi- 
nent  degree — long  endurance  of  fatigue  and  fasting,  and 
courage  not  to  be  surpassed  by  any  nation  under  heaven. 

"  In  short,  never  was  there  a  country  more  ready  for 


RORY  O'MORE.  20 1 

revolution,  nor  more  needing  it.  Everything  is  antago- 
nized, everything  in  extremes  ;  it  is  waste  or  want,  raimet<t 
or  rags,  feasting  or  starvation.  There  is  no  middle  to 
anything.  The  very  column  of  society  is  broken — the 
capital  and  base  alone  remain  ;  the  shaft  is  shattered,  and 
the  two  extremes  are  in  ruinous  separation. 

"  If  anything  were  wanting  to  complete  this  fearful  state 
of  things,  it  is  this  :  with  these  two  parties,  religion  is  a 
badge,  and  not  a  blessing  ;  and  they  make  their  creeds 
which  profess  peace,  a  war-cry." 

This  letter  De  Lacy  forwarded  to  France  ;  and  about  a 
fortnight  afterward,  he  himself  made  a  visit  to  Dublin,  td 
consult  the  chiefs  of  the  revolutionary  party  on  the  neces 
sity  of  having  the  organization  in  a  state  of  readiness  for 
co-operation  with  the  force  from  France  which,  he  doubt:e(i 
not,  his  letter  would  hasten. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


Showing  how  a  Gentleman  Might  not  Dress  Himself  as  He  Pleased  ForVy 

Years  Ago,  in  Ireland, 

"  Sure,  there's  some  wonder  in  this  handkerchief." — Othello. 

"  For  the  wearing  of  the  green, 
For  the  wearing  of  the  green, 
'Tis  a  poor  distressed  country  for  the  wearing  of  the  green." 

— National  Ballad. 

On  communicating  with  the  Central  Committee  in  Dub- 
lin, De  Lacy  found  all  was  in  readiness  to  co-operate  with 
a  force  landing  from  France.  But,  sanguine  as  were  their 
expectations  of  aid  from  the  republic,  their  disappoint- 
ments had  been  so  frequent,  that,  after  some  time  had 
elapsed,  they  urged  De  Lacy  to  present  himself  in  person 
to  the  Directory,  and  urge  an  itnmediate  movement  in 
their  favor.  "  Impatience,"  said  they,  "  begins  to  manifest 
itself  in  some  ;  despair  in  others  ;  and  action  becomes 
necessary.  How  many  opportunities  have  been  frus- 
trated !  While  there  was  mutiny  to  a  fearful  extent  in  the 
English  navy,  our  friends  in  the  Texel  could  not  give  11? 
aid,  and  thus  a  favorable  occasion  was  lost  ;  and  now, 
when  the  recent  victories  and  glorious  peace  France  has 


202  RORY  CM  ORE. 

acliieved,  leave  her  free  from  action — now  is  the  time  to 
cripple  Britain  !  Sliould  this  moment  be  allowed  to  pass, 
we  may  never  find  another." 

Thus  urged,  De  Lacy  determined  on  acting  in  accord- 
ance with  the  views  of  the  leading  members  of  United 
men,  and  returned  to  the  south,  to  make  the  necessary 
arrangements  with  De  Welskein  for  his  being  conveyed 
to  France.  During  De  Lacy's  absence,  the  circumstances 
of  the  immediate  region  of  our  story  were  ripening  into 
some  serious  action.  "  The  plot  was  thickening,"  as  the 
romance  readers  say,  and  Rory  was  getting  more  and 
more  into  hot  water. 

The  affair  ef  the  guard-room,  and  his  private  interview 
with  the  colonel,  had  spread  among  Regan's  set  ;  and 
however  De  Welskein  was  answered  by  De  Lacy  upon 
every  charge  he  could  bring  against  O'More,  it  was  not 
such  an  easy  matter  to  silence  the  murmurs  of  a  parcel 
of  prejudiced  ruffians,  whose  personal  dislike  of  our  hero, 
because  he  was  not  of  their  set,  and  had  thrashed  their 
leader,  rendered  them  impervious  to  every  particle  of  evi- 
dence which  they  did  not  choose  to  believe. 

At  this  time,  too,  they  dreaded  the  approaching  trial  of 
Darby  Daly,  the  man  who  had  been  arrested  the  same 
night  as  Rory.  He  was  not  only  a  smuggler,  but  a  United 
man,  and  they  feared,  in  case  of  a  conviction,  that  he  might 
"  blab  "  to  save  himself.  So,  to  prevent  such  a  disagree- 
able result,  and  as  the  jail  where  he  was  confined  was  too 
strong  to  admit  any  hope  of  escape,  it  was  determined  that 
the  awkward  circumstances  likely  to  result  from  a  trial 
should  be  avoided,  by  putting  the  prosecutor  and  principal 
witness  out  of  the  way. 

This  was  no  less  a  person  than  "  The  Collector," 
Scrubbs  ;  and  how  he  was  to  be  disposed  of,  was  matter 
of  consultation  with  De  Welskein's  party,  who,  being  all 
liable  to  implication  in  the  smuggling  affair,  were  equally 
anxious  to  get  rid  of  the  collector.  Now,  "  Soldering 
Solomon,"  being  a  long-headed  old  fellow,  and  interested 
in  the  success  of  the  smuggling,  might  help  them  in  the 
matter  ;  and  as  there  was  an  appointment  made  for  the 
following  Sunday,  when  a  certain  "jollification"  was  to  be 
held,  at  which  most  of  the  "set,"  were  to  be  present,  it 
was  agreed  to  postpone  the  consideration  of  the  collector's 
fate  until  that  day,  when  the  tinker  might  assist  in  their 
councils. 

In  the  meantime,  De  Lacy  sought   De  Welskein,  whf 


RORY  O'MORE.  203 

promised  to  be  ready  to  sail  for  France  within  the  ensu- 
ing week.  De  Lacy  urged  an  earlier  departure  ;  but  as 
the  smuggler  said  his  lugger  would  not  be  ofiE  the  coast 
until  that  time,  his  embarkation  was  of  necessity  delayed. 

But  an  event  soon  took  place  which  might  have  termin- 
ated  fatally  to  De  Lacy,  and  prevented  an}^  future  voyages 
he  projected.  He  had  been  in  the  neighboring  village, 
and  was  about  to  return,  when  a  troop  of  yeomanry  cavalry 
rode  in  and  halted  half-way  up  the  street,  opposite  to 
M'Garry's,  the  apothecary's,  at  whose  shop  the  post-office 
was  established.  The  troop  had  been  under  the  inspection 
of  the  district  general  that  day,  and  was  then  returning,  when 
Solomon  Slink,  Esq.,  of  Slinkstown,  captain  of  the  corps, 
halted  his  troop,  as  already  stated,  to  inquire  at  the  post- 
oflBce  if  there  were  any  letters  for  him.  The  captain  was 
a  violent  person  in  his  politics  ;  one  of  those  with  whom 
it  is  not  enough  to  support  their  own  opinions,  but  to 
knock  down  those  of  everybody  who  thinks  differently  from 
themselves  ;  and  in  those  days,  when  on  the  side  of  author- 
ity so  much  could  be  done  with  impunity,  such  a  person 
was  prompt  to  commit  outrage  on  very  trivial  grounds. 

It  so  happened,  that  as  he  rode  up  to  M'Garry's  shop, 
De  Lacy  was  about  to  leave,  it,  and  was  just  upon  the 
threshold  as  the  captain  was  going  to  ask  for  his  letters  ; 
but  his  eye  was  attracted  by  the  green  handkerchief  which 
De  Lacy  wore,  which,  being  the  national  color  of  Ireland, 
was  offensive  to  the  sight  of  those  who  loved  oppression 
better  than  their  country  ;  and  so  the  captain,  being  at  the 
head  of  his  corps,  thought  he  would  exercise  a  bit  of  loyal 
tyranny  with  safety. 

Casting  a  ferocious  look  upon  De  Lacy,  he  said  in  tlie 
most  offensive  manner,  "  Why  do  you  wear  that  green 
handkerchief  ?" 

De  Lacy  was  taken  by  surprise  at  the  extraordinary  in- 
solence of  the  man,  and  the  ultra  intolerance  that  would 
interfere  with  the  private  right  of  dressing  as  one  pleased. 
Before  he  could  answer,  the  question  was  repeated  with 
increased  offensiveness. 

"  I  believe,  sir,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  I  have  as  good  a  right 
to  wear  a  handkerchief  as  you." 

"Not  a  green  one,"  said  the  captain. 

"  I'm  not  aware  of  any  law  against  wearing  green,  sir," 
said  De  Lacy. 

"  /'//  show  you  law  for  it !  "  said  the  other.  "  Take  it 
off,  sir  !  " 


204  ROnV  O'MORR. 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  tiling,  sir." 

"  Won't  you  !     Then  \i  you  don't,  by  G /will !  " 

"  That  you  may  do  if  you  like,  sir,"  said  De  Lacy,  fold- 
ing his  arms  and  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height. 

The  captain  pressed  his  spurs  to  his  horse's  side,  and 
plunging  rudely  upon  De  Lacy,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
tie  of  his  handkerchief,  which  he  dragged  from  his  neck 

and  flung  upon  the  ground,  saying,  "  There's  your  d d 

rebel  green  for  you  !  " 

De  Lacy  grew  as  pale  and  cold,  and  firm,  too,  as  marble, 
at  the  brutal  affront,  and  said  to  the  yeomanry  hero,  with 
a  tone  of  chilling  mockery  in  his  voice  : 

"  Thank  you  !  And  now,  sir,  after  your  polite  attention 
to  my  toilet,  may  I  beg  the  favor  of  your  dismounting  and 
walkinsf  into  the  fields  with  me  ?  I  see  vour  liolsters  are 
provided  with  pistols,  and  two  of  your  own  gentlemen  can 
arrange  our  ground." 

"  Arrange  your  grandmother  ! "  said  the  polished  cap- 
tain.    "  Fight  a  rebel,  indeed  !     I'd  see  you  d d  first!" 

"  Then,  sir,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  at  the  head  of  your  own 
corps,  I  tell  you  you're  a  coward  ! " 

Captain  Slink  half  drew  his  sword,  but  his  arm  was  ar^ 
rested  by  the  Protestant  clergyman  of  the  parish,  who 
fortunately  was  beside  him,  or  perhaps  De  Lacy's  life 
might  have  paid  the  forfeit  of  his  temerity,  in  daring  to 
object  to  this  loyal  aggression,  and  fling  back  insult  for 
insult. 

Having  thus  defied  the  captain  without  producing  the 
desired  result,  De  Lacy  turned  on  his  heel,  and  left  him 
boiling  with  indignation  at  the  epithet  that  had  been  flung 
in  his  teeth. 

"  Does  anyone  know  who  the  rascal  is  ? "  said  he. 

"  I  know  where  the  fellow  lives,"  said  the  collector,  who, 
as  well  as  Sweeny,  was  one  of  the  corps. 

The  captain  having  received  his  letters  from  the  post- 
office,  the  troop  was  again  put  in  motion  ;  and  on  the  road 
a  long  conversation  took  place  between  Scrubbs,  Sweeny, 
and  the  commander,  relative  to  De  Lacy,  on  whom  they 
had  always  looked  with  a  suspicious  eye,  and  after  whom 
Jhey  thought  it  necessary  that  some  inquiry  should  be  made. 

"  Never  fear,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  I'll  have  a  sharp  eye 
on  the  chap." 

That  evening,  while  the  lord  of  Slinkstown  was  drinking 

^is  claret,  he  was  seriously  considering  a  letter  he  had  just 

'eceived,  a  passage  in  which  arrested  his  attention,  in  con- 


RORV  O'MORE.  205 

nection  with  the  occurrence  between  him  and  De  Lacy 
that  day.  It  mentioned  fears  being  entertained  among 
the  well-affected  to  tlie  government,  that  emissaries  from 
France  were  at  work  in  Ireland  ;  and  the  writer  (who  was 
an  official  in  Dublin  Castle)  had  heard  some  rumors  of  a 
suspicious  person  having  been  lately  seen  leaving  Dublin 
in  one  of  the  southern  coaches  ;  and  recommending  to  the 
captain  vigilance  about  his  district  in  case  questionable 
people  might  be  observed. 

At  this  period,  though  the  government  had  not  any  tan- 
gible evidence  to  go  upon  to  prove  a  conspiracy,  yet  their 
fears  were  awake  upon  the  subject ;  and  some  arrests  had 
been  made  on  mere  suspicion,  even  at  this  time,  and  their 
spies  were  on  the  alert  in  all  quarters. 

It  will  not,  under  these  circumstances,  be  wondered  at 
that  the  captain  determined  to  see  more  about  De  Lacv, 
against  whom  not  only  his  loyalty  urged  him  to  be  hostile, 
but  the  insult  which  had  been  cast  upon  him  so  publicly. 
He  therefore  ordered  a  muster  of  the  corps  for  the  next 
day,  and  determined  on  arresting  De  Lacy. 

That  young  gentleman  pursued  his  way  homeward  after 
leaving  the  village,  muttering  desperate  speeches  all  the 
way,  and  longing  in  his  inmost  soul  to  have  a  shot  at  the 
captain  ;  but  as  that  was  clearly  out  of  the  question,  he 
was  obliged  to  be  satisfied  with  calling  him  fifty  thousand 
"ruffians"  and  "poltroons."  This  relieved  his  mind  con- 
siderably, and  after  swearing  over  about  a  mile  of  ground, 
he  began  to  think  that  after  what  had  taken  place,  it  was 
just  as  well  he  was  leaving  the  country,  where  to  have  re- 
mained without  getting  "  satisfaction  "  would  have  "stuck 
in  his  gizzard,"  as  Lord  Chesterfield  says  ;  so  he  was  all 
impatient  for  getting  to  France,  to  hurry  the  expedition, 
that  he  might  return  and  wreck  his  vengeance  on  all  the 
yeomanry  in  Ireland  for  the  insult  he  had  received  from 
the  bully  captain. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


Showing  how  a  Pass  may  Defend  a  Soldier,  as  well  as  a  Soldier  Defend  a 
Pass  ;  and  how  a  Man  in  Authority  may  Order  Sabres  for  One,  with- 
out Admiring  Pistols  for  Two. 

The  morning  after  this  untoward  occurrence,  De  Wel- 
skein  and  De  Lacy  were  in  consultation  in  Ror}'^  O'M ore's 
cottage  upon  the  projected  trip  to  France.     The  smuggler 


2o6  RORY  O'MORE. 

anticipated  that  the  Monday  or  Tuesday  following  would 
see  the  lugger  upon  the  coast,  and  he  appointed  a  place 
where  De  Lacy  should  be  in  readiness  to  embark.  Before 
they  had  finished  their  conference,  De  Lacy's  ear  caught 
the  sound  of  the  approaching  tramp  of  horses  ;  and,  look- 
ing from  the  window,  he  saw  the  troop  of  yeomanry  cavalry 
trotting  down  the  horeen,  with  his  friend  the  captain  at 
their  head,  flanked  by  Scrubbs  and  Sweeny. 

Scrubbs  never  had  forgiven  De  Lacy  the  liberal  senti- 
ments he  expressed  on  the  coach  the  day  of  his  journey 
downv/ard  ;  and  Sweeny,  whose  indignation  was  great 
against  Rory  for  the  alteration  of  the  tombstone,  had  a 
misgiving  that  this  mysterious  stranger  had  something  to 
do  with  turning  a  loyal  Protestant  into  ridicule.  There- 
fore,  both  these  gentlemen,  independently  of  their  duty  to 
their  captain  and  the  good  of  the  state,  were  very  willing 
to  join  in  a  domiciliary  visit  to  Rory  O'More,  and  make 
an  arrest  upon  his  friend. 

The  moment  De  Lacy  saw  the  yeomanry,  he  calculated 
some  mischief  was  in  the  wind  ;  and,  feeling  that  the  pres- 
ence of  a  foreigner  under  existing  circumstances  would 
bear  an  unfavorable  interpretation  against  him,  he  opened 
the  door  to  call  for  Rory,  who,  being  always  on  the  alert 
in  cases  of  emergency,  had  his  hand  already  upon  the 
latch  to  warn  De  Lacy  of  the  armed  men. 

'■'■He  must  not  be  seen,"  said  De  Lacy,  pointing  to  De 
Welskein.     "  Can  you  conceal  him  ?" 

*' In  a  jiffy,"  said  Rory.  "Make  haste,  your  sowl  ! " 
said  he  to  the  Frenchman  ;  "come  along  here!"  and  he 
pulled  the  smuggler  across  the  floor  of  the  kitchen,  to 
where,  in  the  recess  of  the  fireplace,  a  kish  used  for  hold- 
ing turf  stood  ;  and  Rory,  in  an  instant  emptying  the  turf 
from  the  basket,  said,  "  Down  with  you,  Divilskin,  my 
darlin',  down  on  your  marrow-bones !  " 

The  Frenchman,  though  he  did  not  understand  his  lan- 
guage, comprehended  his  meaning,  and  dropping  on  his 
knees,  Rory  inverted  the  kish  upon  him  and  covered  him 
completely. 

While  all  this  was  doing  inside  the  house,  the  captain 
had  his  plans  to  put  in  practice  outside  ;  he  completely 
surrounded  the  cottage  with  his  men  to  prevent  an  escape, 
and  then  he  swaggered  into  the  house  with  his  sword 
clattering  at  his  heels,  followed  by  Sweeny  and  Scrubbs. 

De  Lacy  apprehending  that  the  women  might  be  alarmed 
and  their  agitation  might  be  productive  of  mischief,  came 


RORY  OWIORE.  207 

forward  to  meet  the  captain  and  his  supporters  at  once, 
that  his  presence  might  call  off  their  attention  from  the 
widow  and  her  daughter.  Before  they  who  came  to  seek 
him  had  time  to  ask  a  question,  De  Lacy  said,  "  I  rather 
think  the  honor  of  this  visit  is  meant  for  me  ! " 

The  captain  at  the  first  glance  did  not  recognize  him, 
for  De  Lacy  had  a  dressing-gown  on,  as  his  coat  had  been 
wetted  through  that  morning  by  a  heavy  shower  of  rain  ; 
but  on  a  second  look  the  yeomanry  hero  perceived  it  was 
his  man,  and  said,  "Yes,  you  are  the  person  I  want." 

De  Lacy,  pointing  politely  to  the  door  of  his  bedroom, 
whence  he  had  stepped,  said,  "  Will  you  do  me  the  favor 
to  go  into  my  room  ?" 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  we'll  follow  you." 

De  Lacy,  bowing  courteously  and  still  pointing  to  the 
door,  said,  "  After  you,  if  you  please."  And  there  was 
that  influence  in  his  manner  which  an  air  of  politeness 
always  bestows,  that  even  the  brutality  of  the  squireen 
captain  was  not  insensible  to  its  power,  and  he  and  his 
satellites  entered  the  room,  followed  by  De  Lacy,  who 
closed  the  door. 

"  Gentlemen,  pray  be  seated,"  continued  he. 

"  There's  no  necessity — our  business  here  is  very  short." 

"  May  I  beg  to  know  what  is  your  business,  sir  ? " 

"That's  just  the  question  I  was  going  to  ask  _>'<?«.  I  want 
to  know  who  and  what  you  are,  and  where  you  come 
from." 

"  I  have  yet  to  learn,  sir,  what  authority  you  have  for 
asking  such  a  question  ?" 

"That's  always  the  answer  that  people  make  who  can't 
give  a  good  account  of  themselves." 

At  this  moment  the  door  was  opened  and  Rory,  putting 
in  his  head,  said,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir — here's  your 
coat  ; "  and  De  Lacy  saw  in  the  expression  of  his  eye  that 
he  had  some  meaning  in  his  intrusion — so,  going  to  the 
door,  he  received  the  garment  from  Rory,  who  said  in  a 
whisper,  as  he  handed  it  to  him,  "  T\\^pass  is  in  the  pocket." 

De  Lacy  caught  Rory's  ideas  on  the  instant,  and  beg- 
ging pardon  of  his  visitors,  threw  off  his  dressing-gown 
and  resumed  his  coat. 

The  moment  that  Rory  had  seen  the  captain  enter  the 
house,  the  thought  struck  him  of  the  colonel's  pass  being 
made  an  instrument  of  safety  to  De  Laqy  ;  but  how  to 
put  it  into  his  possession  was  the  question.  Just  then  his 
eye  caught  the  coat  hanging  before  the  fire  ;  and  to  get 


2o8  RORY   O'MORE. 

the  pass  from  his  box,  put  it  in  the  pocket,  and  make  Da 
Lacy  change  his  garment,  was  the  work  of  a  moment. 

De  Lacy  feU  for  the  pass,  and  when  his  fingers  touched 
the  precious  slip  of  paper,  he  knew  he  possessed  a  talis- 
man to  paralyze  the  attempt  made  against  him — so, assum- 
ing the  most  perfect  composure,  he  muttered  some  com- 
mon-place apology  about  his  being  found  in  dishabille,  and 
again  requested  his  visitor  to  be  seated. 

"  You  seem  to  take  this  very  easy,  sir,"  said  the  captain  ; 
"but  it  won't  do — I  arrest  you,  sir,"  and  he  was  advancing 
upon  De  Lacy,  who  retired  rapidly  a  few  paces,  and  seiz- 
ing from  a  corner  cupboard  a  case  of  pistols,  he  pre- 
sented them  upon  his  would-be  captor,  and  said,  "  Dare  to 
lay  a  hand  on  me,  and  you  are  a  dead  man." 

The  captain  paused,  but  said  to  Scrubbs  and  Sweeny, 
"  Advance  and  seize  him  !  " 

But  Scrubbs  and  Sweeny  looked  at  De  Lacy's  pistols, 
and  then  at  each  other,  and  seemed  to  have  no  greater 
stomach  to  be  shot  than  their  commander. 

"  Don't  be  rash,  gentlemen,"  said  De  Lacy  ;  though  m- 
deed  there  seemed  no  great  necessity  for  his  caution,  from 
the  moment  his  pistols  made  their  appearance.  He  laid 
down  one  of  the  weapons,  and  putting  his  hand  into  his 
pocket  drew  forth  the  pass,  which  he  presented  to  the  cap- 
tain, saying,  "  I  suppose,  sir,  you  know  what  that  is  !  " 

The  captain  was  thunderstruck. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself  now,  sir  ?  "  said  De 
Lacy,  with  cutting  severity  in  his  voice. 

"  Is  that  his  writing  ? "  said  Slink,  showing  the  pass  to 
Scrubbs,  who,  he  knew,  was  familiar  with  the  character. 

Scrubbs  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

The  captain  handed  back  the  pass,  and  mumbled  some 
lame  apology,  in  which,  "  very  sorry  " — "  a  thousand  par- 
dons " — "  suspicious  appearances  " — "  strange  times,"  etc., 
etc.,  were  huddled  together  ;  "but  how  could  he  know?" 

"  You  had  better  wait  until  you  do  know,  iiext  time,  sir," 
said  De  Lacy,  "  and  not  pull  neckcloths  from  unoffending 
persons  for  the  future." 

"  For  the  occurrence  of  yesterday,  I  beg  to  offer  you " 

"  Pray  say  no  more  on  that  subject,  sir.  You  affronted 
me,  and  I  \x\sw\\.(tA  you  ;  \i  you  are  content  /am." 

Captain  Slink  protested  he  was  delighted  to  find  he  had 
been  mistaken,  and  could  not  think  of  harboring  any  re- 
sentment against  a  loyal  gentleman  ;  that  he  was  never 
more  surprised  in  his  life — "he  could  not  comprehend." 


RORY  O'MORE.  20^1 

"  I  dare  say,  sir,  there  are  many  things  above  your  com- 
prehension," said  De  Lacy  ;  "  but  as  a  word  of  parting  ad- 
vice, I  recommend  you  in  future  to  abstain  from  aggres- 
sions on  better  men  than  yourself." 

"  Sir,  I  don't  see,"  said  the  captain,  "  why  you  should 
insinuate " 

"  If  you  don't  like  what  I  say,  sir,"  said  De  Lacy, 
"  there's  fair  ground  at  the  back  of  the  house  ;  and  here's 
a  case  of  pistols." 

"  By  no  means,  sir,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  I  didn't  mean 
that ;  these  are  not  times  when  loyal  men  should  quarrel 
among  themselves." 

In  short,  the  bully  backed  out. 

Scrubbs  and  Sweeny  were  mute  witnesses  of  this  scene, 
which  was  equally  astounding  to  them  as  to  their  com. 
mander  ;  but  just  before  leaving  the  room.  Sweeny  ven  . 
tured  to  say  in  the  most  obsequious  manner  to  De  Lac3r 
(for  the  moment  he  showed  the  colonel's  pass,  his  higli 
tone  overawed  the  whole  three)  that  he  begged  to  ask  hini 
what  his  opinion  was  of  Rory  O'More. 

"  He  is  as  worthy  of  trust  as  I  am,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  He  has  your  confidence,  then,  sir,"  said  Scrubbs. 

"  Most  implicitly,  sir,"  said  De  Lacy. 

Captain  Slink  in  tlie  meantime  had  made  his  exit,  as 
Rory  said,  "  like  a  dog  without  his  tail  ; "  and  as  soon  as 
Scrubbs  and  Sweeny  were  in  their  saddles,  he  went  to  the 
right-about,  rather  crest-fallen  at  his  two  subs  having  wit- 
nessed his  poltroonery  in  shying  De  Lacy's  invitation  to 
"  pistols  for  two," 

When  the  corps  was  fairly  gone,  Rory  lifted  the  kish  un- 
der which  De  Welskein  was  concealed,  who  emerged  from 
his  wicker  ambush  covered  with  the  dust  of  the  turf,  and 
cutting  a  comical  figure.  As  he  shook  himself  and  slap- 
ped the  particles  of  peat  from  his  person,  he  grimaced, 
and  ejaculated  '''■  sacre  !  "  continually,  and  seemed  little  sat- 
isfied with  the  place  which  had  been  selected  for  his  re- 
treat ;  but  Rory  assured  him,  as  he  helped  him  to  clean 
himself,  that  he  had  increased  his  consequence  by  the 
transaction. 

"  How  is  dat  ?  "  said  the  Frenchman. 

"Sure  I  made  you  a  gintleman  of  the  turf  I  "  said  Rory. 

"  Rory,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  you're  a  capital  fellow  ;  give 
me  your  hand.  Your  presence  of  mind  on  this  occasion 
has  saved  us  all." 

"  Oh,  thin,  if  Scrubbs  only  knew  how   I   came  by  the 


2IO  RORY   O'MORE. 

same  pass  ! "  said  Rory.  "  Faix,  it's  his  own  darlin'  rib 
that  saved  all  the  bones  in  our  skins  this  day." 

"It's  your  ready  wit  we  may  thank,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Rory.  "  It  isn't  ;«_)'head,  but 
Scrubbs',  you're  behovvlden  to." 

"  One  thing  is  clear,  however,"  said  De  Lacy  :  "  I  mustn't 
stay  here  any  longer.  Should  the  affair  of  the  pass  get 
wind,  they  would  be  back  on  us  immediately." 

"  True  enough,"  said  Rory.  "  I  thought  so  myself,  but 
I  didn't  like  to  say  it  first.  It  would  look  like  wishing  to 
get  rid  of  you." 

"  Don't  think  so  unworthy  of  me,  Rory,"  said  De  Lacy, 
"  as  to  suppose  I  could  ever  believe  an  ungenerous  senti- 
ment might  find  a  place  in  your  heart." 

A  council  was  now  held  between  the  parties  as  to  the 
best  mode  of  proceeding.  It  was  agreed  that  De  Lacy 
should  proceed  to  the  coast  without  delay  ;  and  this  being 
decided  on,  he  sat  about  making  his  arrangements  at  once. 
Any  English  books  he  had,  he  set  apart  as  a  present  for 
Mary  ;  and  calling  her  to  his  room,  begged  her  acceptance 
of  them  as  a  small  testimonal  of  his  sense  of  her  care  and 
attention  during  his  dangerous  illness.  Poor  Mary  was 
quite  overcome  with  this  proof  of  his  respect  for  her — 
that  she  should  have  his  books — the  scholar's  books.  It  made 
her  proud  ;  but  her  pride  was  mingled  with  sorrow,  that 
they  were  going  to  lose  the  society  of  this  cultivated  per- 
son, whose  presence  in  their  cottage  they  looked  upon  as 
an  honor,  and  whose  courteous  manners  had  won  him  their 
affection. 

"  Sure  it's  sorry  we  are  you're  goin',  sir,"  said  Mary. 

"  I  regret  it  myself,  Mary,"  said  De  Lacy.  "  I  have 
found  more  pure  and  disinterested  kindness  under  this 
roof  than  ever  I  met  before,  or  may  ever  meet  again  in  this 
wide  world,  and  I  shall  never  forget  it ;  and  when  I  come 
back  to  Ireland,  wliich  I  trust  will  be  soon,  I  shall  not  be 
long  in  the  country  without  coming  to  see  you  all.  Take 
these  few  books,  Mary.  Your  name  is  written  in  them 
with  my  own  hand." 

With  these  words  he  gave  the  books  to  the  girl,  who  was 
so  touched  by  this  last  little  mark  of  attention  that  she 
could  not  speak  ;  and  on  receiving  the  present,  a  mute 
courtesy  was  all  she  returned,  as  she  held  down  her  head 
to  hide  the  tears  that  were  coming  thick  and  fast  ;  and  be- 
fore she  reached  the  door  De  Lacy  heard  her  sobbing. 

"Kind  and  sensitive  people  !  "  said  he. 


ing  us  now 


RORY  O'MORE.  21 1 

To  the  Widow  O'More  he  begged,  in  the  most  delicate 
manner,  to  offer  some  gold,  for  all  the  trouble  and  expense 
he  had  caused  ;  but  she  would  not  listen  to  such  a  propo- 
sition. In  vain  he  urged  the  propriety  and  justice  of  it — 
the  widow  was  inexorable. 

"  Sure,  sir,  a  gintleman,  as  you  are — and  it  is  the  rale 
gintleman  you  are,  for  it  is  the  civil  word  and  the  kin.d 
word  is  always  and  ever  was,  the  readiest  with  you — I  say, 
a  gintleman  to  live  undher  our  humble  roof,  and  be  con- 
tent with  our  humble  ways,  and  never  complain — sure  it  is 
an  honor  you  done  us,  and  you  wouldn't  think  of  affront- 
!  " 
Not  for  the  world,  my  dear  Mrs.  O'More  !  "  and  De 
Lacy  took  her  hand  and  shook  it  warmly  ;  "  but " 

"  Don't  say  a  word  more,  sir  ;  sure  you  said  dear  Mrs. 
O'More  to  me,  as  if  I  was  a  lady  ;  and  to  have  that  said  to 
me  by  you,  sir — sure  it's  more  than  I  desarve  if  I  done 
twice  as  much  for  you  ;  sure  that's  prouder  return  to  me 
than  all  the  goold  I  could  tell  ;  and  God  speed  you,  wher- 
ever you  go,  and  send  you  safe  !  and  may  be  we'll  see  you 
ag'in  " — and  she  paused  as  she  added — "  or  may  be  we 
won't  ;  they're  quare  times,  and  sore  times."  Here  she 
closed  the  door.  "  Don't  think  me  imprudent,  sir,  nor 
prying,  nor  meddling,  but  sure,  I  can't  help  seein'  what  I 
see — ifs  comin\  if  s  coniin — and  it'll  be  the  sore  day  for  poor 
Ireland  !  But,  sure,  if  it's  God's  will.  His  blessed  will  must 
be  done  !  And  there's  my  darlin'  boy,  my  Rory,  and  he 
in  the  thick  of  it !  and  who  knows  but  his  precious  life — 
and  sure  my  own  heart's  blood  is  not  as  precious  !  Oh, 
God  !  oh,  God  !  " 

De  Lacy  spoke  soothingly  to  her,  and  attempted  to  calm 
her. 

"Don't  think  me  foolish,  sir— don't — I'm  done  now; 
only  I  know,  of  coorse,  it  must  be.  Rory  has  the  heart 
of  a  lion,  though  the  gentleness  of  a  lamb  is  in  him  too  ; 
the  good  son  and  brother  he  is,  I  won't  deny  ;  but  he  can't 
be  kept  off  that  thing,  he  thinks  it  his  duty  to  his  counthry ; 
and  sure  that's  the  manly  part,  and  why  wouldn't  he  be  a 
man,  though  the  poor  mother's  heart  sinks  with  fear  ? 
And  I  know  you're  great  with  him,  sir  :  not  that  I  blame 
you — don't  think  the  like — Rory  would  be  jist  the  same  if 
he  never  set  eyes  on  you,  and  I'm  proud  in  my  poor  threm- 
blin'  heart  to  think  that  my  poor  boy  is  worthy  of  that  de- 
pindince." 

"  He's  a  noble  fellow,"  said  De  Lacy. 


212  RORY   O'MORE. 

*'God  bless  you  for  the  words  !"  said  she,  weeping  with 
contending  emotions.  "  And  you'll  be  at  the  head  of  it,  \ 
know  ;  and  it's  the  brave  and  the  bowld  leader  you'll  be, 
for  yau're  a  gintleman.  And  it's  to  France  you're  goin'  ; 
isn't  it  to  France  ?" 

"  It  is,"  said  De  Lacy,  who  could  not  at  the  moment 
have  refused  her  the  deepest  confidence. 

"And  will  they  come  soon  ?"  said  she,  eagerly. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  it  was  over !  I  wish  it  was  over  !  for  my 
heart  thrembles  for  my  boy." 

"  Fear  not,"  said  De  Lacy;  "the  truly  brave  are  in  less 
danger  than  the  coward." 

"  Plaze  God  !  plaze  God  !  "  said  the  mother. 

"  I  hope  soon  to  be  back  again,"  said  De  Lacy — "and  at: 
the  head  of  my  grenadiers,"  added  he,  catching  the  enthu 
siasm  of  the  mother,  who  gazed  on  him  with  an  excited 
eye  that  gleamed  through  her  tears.  "I  go  to  summori 
the  victorious  troops  of  France  to  your  aid,  and  Irelanc^ 
shall  soon  be  free  !  " 

The  enthusiastic  woman  sunk  upon  her  knees,  and  with 
the  earnestness  of  devotion  in  her  manner,  she  said,  "  May 
the  God  of  heaven  speed,  and  watch  over  you,  and  protect; 
you,  and  guard  you,  and  all  tliim  that  fights  the  cause  oi 
the  counthry  ! "  Her  lips  moved  for  a  few  seconds,  as  if 
in  prayer  ;  and  marking  herself  with  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
she  arose  from  her  knees,  calmed  by  this  outpouring  of 
her  feelings  ;  then  drying  her  eyes,  and  taking  De  Lacy's 
hands  between  her  own,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and 
saying  fervently,  "  May  God  bless  you  !  "  left  him. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 


A  Subterranean  Meeting — The  Sudden  Appearance  of  an  Unexpected 
Agent,  Threatening  the  Imprisonment  and  Death  of  De  Welskein 
and  His  Party. 

The  Sunday  arrived  which  had  been  appointed  for  the 
meeting  of  De  Welskein  and  the  smugglers  in  "The 
Follv." 

This  was  the  name  given  to  the  ruins  of  an  old,  unfin- 
ished, rambling  sort  of  edifice,  which  seemed  to  have  been 
begun  without  a  beginning,  if  one  may  say  so,  and  never 


RORY  O'MORE.  213 

ca,tne  to  an  end.  The  name  is  common  to  such  sort  of  ab- 
surdities ;  and  this  is  one  of  the  follies  not  peculiar  to  the 
Emerald  Isle,  for  the  same  things,  with  the  same  names, 
exist  in  England. 

In  one  of  the  vaults  underneath  the  pile  the  smugglers 
used  to  meet,  and  the  place  was  peculiarly  fitted  for  such 
secret  purposes,  from  its  extreme  loneliness.  The  ruins 
stood  in  a  romantic  little  valley,  along  whose  abrupt  de- 
clivities old  thorn-trees  wreathed  their  branches  in  fantas- 
tic forms,  and  gave  out  the  perfume  of  their  white  blossoms 
when  the  year  was  young.  A  mountain  stream,  which  had 
its  source  about  a  mile  above  the  valley,  tumbled  about 
through  the  rocks  of  this  wooded  gorge  with  a  wildness 
and  frolic  characteristic  of  its  recent  birth  ;  lower  down  its 
course,  where  its  banks  were  fairer  and  flowers  were  grow- 
ing, it  circled  about  in  eddying  pools  as  if  loath  to  leave 
the  pleasant  places  ;  and  its  bubbles  and  froth,  and  linger- 
ing amid  beauty,  resembled  a  riper  age  ;  and  at  last  to  the 
plain  it  went.  The  dead  level  ot  the  world  reduced  it  to  a 
quieter  pace  ;  and  the  rollicking  stream  settled  down  into 
a  very  smooth,  deep,  easy-going  gentleman. 

Close  beside  the  building,  this  stream  gave  a  spreading 
sweep,  forming  one  of  those  pools  already  alluded  to  ;  it 
was  one  of  the  stages  in  the  course  of  its  existence,  and 
possibly  induced  the  projector  of  the  Folly  to  pitch  on  this 
spot  for  his  practice,  from  the  beauty  it  bestowed  upon  the 
scene.  The  stream,  however,  was  liable  to  sudden  and 
violent  floodings,  from  its  mountain  birth  ;  and  one  of  the 
corners  of  the  ruin  gave  evidence  that  it  reached  a  height 
and  force  sufficient  to  wear  its  floodmark  on  the  masonry. 
I  will  not  say  it  had  the  reputation  of  being  haunted  ;  but, 
from  its  loneliness,  it  was  a  place  rather  avoided.  The  val- 
ley, perhaps,  had  been  always  lonely,  but  the  old  Folly  made 
it  appear  more  so  ;  for  what  gives  so  deep  an  aspect  of 
desolation  to  any  spot  as  the  ruined  and  deserted  tenement 
of  man  ? 

It  was  a  lovely  day  in  October :  the  sun  was  bright,  and 
the  clouds,  in  those  large  masses  indicative  of  the  season, 
were  changing  their  grand  and  fantastic  forms  as  they 
sailed  across  the  sky  before  the  fresh  crisp  breeze  that  rus- 
tled pleasantly  among  the  trees,  whose  yellow  leaves  fell 
in  golden  showers  to  the  brisker  gusts  of  the  wind. 

A  man  with  a  dark  brow,  downcast  eyes,  and  heavy  step, 
appeared  on  the  edge  of  the  hill  that  looked  over  into  the 
valley,  and  paused  on  the  summit.     His  appearance  was 


414  RORY  O'MORE. 

in  startling  contrast  to  the  scene  around  him  ;  for  there  was 
the  briglitness  and  loveliness  of  the  earth,  while  he  seemed 
overshadowed  by  the  dark  and  horrible  passions  of  a  nether 
world.     It  was  Regan. 

The  second  victory  t}-  j.t  Rory  had  gained  over  him  had 
deepened  his  hatred  /  our  hero  to  a  fearful  degree  ;  in 
fact,  had  he  dared  t  strike  the  blow,  murder  was  not  be- 
yond him  ;  but  he  h^  J.  a  coward  conscience  that  quailed  at 
the  prompting  of  his  bad  heart.  Still,  however,  he  hatched 
minor  projects  of  revenge,  and  thus  was  he  employed  as  he 
stood  on  the  acclivity  above  the  valley.  He  was  about  to 
plunge  down  the  side  of  the  hill  that  led  into  the  glen,  when 
the  faint  tinkling  of  the  chapel  bell  from  the  adjacent  vil- 
lage came  fitfully  upon  the  wind,  and  the  sound  died  away 
again.  Regan  stopped  as  if  spell-bound,  and  looked  in 
the  direction  whence  the  sound  proceeded.  The  sound  to 
him  was  as  a  whisper  to  his  conscience.  Bad  though  he 
had  become,  a  regular  attendance  at  mass  was  one  of  the 
decencies  of  behavior  he  had  observed,  and  to-day  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  neglected  the  duty.  This  may  seem 
strange  to  the  general  reader,  but  to  those  who  know  how 
scrupulously  the  Irish  peasantry  attend  public  worship,  it 
will  not  be  deemed  singular.  Again  the  sound  floated  by 
him  on  the  breeze  ;  and  there  he  stood  listening  to  the  bell 
as  it  sounded  on  his  ear  at  intervals,  with  the  shades  of  con^ 
tending  emotion  passing  across  his  countenance,  and  seem- 
ingly  in  a  state  of  utter  indecision,  when  a  tap  on  the  shou] . 
der  aroused  him  from  his  trance,  and  looking  round,  he  s^^f 
the  sharp  eyes  and  sinister  expression  of  old  Solomon  th^ 
tinker  fastened  upon  him. 

"  How  many  grains  goes  to  a  bushel  o'  whate?"  asked 
Solomon. 

"  What  do  you  mane  ? "  replied  Regan. 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  ?  "  replied  the  tinker. 

"  How  should  I  know?"  said  Regan,  sullenly. 

"Why,  you  appeared  to  be  in  sitch  a  deep  study  that  I 
thought  you  wor  makin'  the  calculation,"  said  Solomon.^ 
dryly. 

"  Oh,  thin  I  wasn't,"  said  Regan,  with  a  long-drawn  and 
heavy  sigh  ;  "  I  was  sthriving  to  remember  something  I 
forgot." 

Again  the  chime  of  the  bell  visited  his  ear,  and  Regan's 
look  involuntarily  answered  the  sound.  The  tinker  fast- 
ened his  keen  eyes  on  him,  and  guessing  at  Regan's  startled 
conscience,  he  read  his  thoughts  in  an  instant,  and  with  a 


RORY   O'MORE.  215 

backward  twitch  of  his  shrivelled  thumb  over  his  shoulder 
toward  the  village,  he  said,  "  Forgot ! — I  suppose  you  for- 
got to  go  to  ?nass  ! — ho,  ho,  ho  !  what  a  loss  you  are  to 
the  flock  this  day ! — what'll  Father  Kinshela  do  without 
you  ? " 

"None  o'  your  humbuggin',  Sol,"  said  Regan. 

"  Is  it  me  humbug  ?"  said  the  tinker,  with  a  sneer  as  if 
rejoicing  in  the  power  he  affected  to  disclaim.  "  Come 
along,  man  ;  we  are  late  enough.  Never  mind  chapel  to- 
day ;  the  chapel  will  wait  till  next  Sunday.  Don't  you 
know  what  Punch  said  :  '  Divil  may  care,'  says  Punch  when 
he  lost  mass  ;  '  I'll  be  in  time  for  church.'  "  And  so  saying, 
the  tinker  led  the  way  to  the  valley,  and  Regan  followed 
in  silence. 

Within  the  vaults  of  the  Folly  the  smugglers  were  as- 
sembled for  some  time,  and  were  sitting  round  a  rude  table 
formed  of  three  or  four  planks  laid  across  a  couple  of 
large  stones,  whereon  some  greybeards  filled  with  brandy 
stood,  one  of  which  was  making  the  circle  of  the  board, 
and  lowering  fast  in  spirits  while  it  raised  those  of  the 
company.  Standing  beside  a  large  pot  which  was  sus- 
pended over  a  turf  fire  appeared  De  Welskein,  who  was 
busy  in  cooking  the  contents  of  the  cauldron — and  among 
his  various  avocations  it  will  not  be  wondered  at  that  a 
Frenchman  enjoyed  the  mysteries  of  \.\\q  cuisine ;  but  at 
the  same  time,  while  he  attended  to  his  culinary  cares,  he 
took  his  share  of  the  conversation — and  the  brandy  also. 

"  Monsieur  Reggan  not  coame  yait  ?  "  said  De  Welskein. 

"  He  go  to  shappel,   I  sooppose — ha,  ha  !  G d n 

fool !  no  philosophe,  too  fond  of  prieste.  What  good  for 
prieste  ?  for  nussing,    bote  demself — to  kesh  ten  peegs. " 

"It's  not  the  priest,  but  the  parson  gets  the  pigs,"  said 
one  of  his  companions. 

"All  de  sem!"  said  De  Welskein,  contemptuously — 
"  all  de  sem  !  one  prieste  sem  as  nudder  prieste — all  home- 
bogue  :  prette  feeshe  in  a  keettel !  " 

"A  kittle  o'  fish,  you  mane,  I  suppose." 

"  Yais — keettel  feesh — das  it." 

Regan  and  Solomon  now  made  their  appearance,  and 
were  questioned  as  to  the  cause  of  their  delay,  for  they 
were  the  last  of  the  party. 

"  Me  know  ver  Avell  wisout  ax,"  said  De  Welskein. 
"  Meester  Solsodderman,"  which  was  his  version  of  Saw- 
dering  Solomon,  "  he  not  like  to  laif  de  ouse  vere  he  sleep 
Jas  nise  visows  his  brekfas  dees  morneeng — ha,  ha  ! '' 


2i6  RORY  O'MORE. 

"  Small  blame  to  me  !  "  said  Solomon,  while  the  others 
iaughed  at  this  touch  of  De  Welskein's  knowledge  of  Sol- 
omon's character. 

"  And  for  Monsieur  Reggan,"  said  the  smuggler,  "  he 
go  to  shappel  and  coos  not  come  before." 

"  No,  I  didn't  go  to  shappel^'  answered  Regan. 

"  He  was  only  thinkin'  of  it,"  said  Solomon. 

"  Ah  !  you  never  love  liberie  while  you  love  de  prieste," 

"  Maybe  he  thinks  it's  betther  be  off  with  the  owld  love 
before  he's  on  with  the  new,"  said  Solomon. 

"  Voiis  avez  raisoii"  said  the  Frenchman,  triumphantly  ; 
"  off  wid  dem,  off  wid  dem  all,  prieste  and  prance  !  Bote 
coame — seet  down  ;  time  for  see  vaut  to  do  wis  Mister 
Collectere.  Here,  Darbee,"  said  he  to  a  red-haired  ruffian 
who  was  near  the  fire — "  here  !  you  wash  dis  paut  wile  me 
make  comeetay  of  poobleek  softy." 

De  Welskein  handed  his  ladle  to  Darby  and  joined  thg 
council,  who  were  already  muttering  among  each  other 
their  notions  of  what  was  the  best  means  of  silencing  the; 
collector. 

"  We  must  get  rid  of  him  somehow,"  said  Regan. 

"Sartinly,"  said  a  fellow,  called  Jack  Flannerty, 

"  But  what's  the  best  way  of  doing  it  ? "  asked  a  third. 

•'  Send  him  over  the  say  in  munseer's  ship,"  said  a  fourth. 

"  Ver  good,"  said  De  Welskein.  "  He  may  spik  mosh  a? 
he  like  in  France  ! — ha,  ha  ! — safe  'nuff  dere  !  " 

"  Give  him  a  dog's  knock  at  wanst  ! "  said  Jack  Flan- 
nerty. 

"Dead  men  tell  no  tales,"  said  Solomon,  sententiously, 
and  with  a  diabolical  expression  about  his  eyes  and  mouth  ; 
and  immediately  after,  addressing  the  man  who  was  in 
charge  of  the  boiling  pot,  whose  attention  had  been  at- 
tracted by  the  last  proposition,  he  said,  "  Darby  avic  !  mind 
the  pot,  or  our  dinner  will  be  spylte." 

"  Wash  de  paut,  I  tell  you." 

"  Darby's  no  great  cook,"  said  Solomon  ;  "  but  you  know 
the  owld  saying — God  sends  mate,  but  the  divil  sends 
cooks." 

"  By  gar,  den,  me  send  Darbee  back  to  him." 

"  Afther  you  is  manners,  sir,"  said  Darby. 

"But,"  said  Flannerty,  "what  do  yiz  say  to  knockin' out 
his  brains  ?" 

"  How  do  you  know  he  has  any  ?"  said  Solomon. 

"  He  has  enough  to  hang  Darby  Daly,  anyhow." 

"  I  don't  like  murdher,"  said  Regan. 


RORY  O'MORE.  217 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  said  Flannerty,  looking  at  him  contemp- 
tuously.     "  Do  you  think  he'd  hant  you  ?" 

"  Maybe  you  wouldn't  like  to  see  a  ghost  yourself,"  said 
Regan,  who  was  not  pleased  with  the  tone  of  Flannerty's 
address. 

"  Bah  !  nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  De  Welskein. 

"Dead  men  tell  no  tales,"  croaked  Solomon  again. 

"  Ay,  but  murdher  spakes  out,"  said  Regan  ;  "  it's  always 
discovered  one  way  or  the  other."  This  was  X\\Qtrue  cause 
of  Regan's  objection  to  the  measure. 

"  Wouldn't  sendin'  him  over  the  say  do  as  well  ? "  said 
the  former  proposer  of  that  measure, 

"  I  think  it  would,"  said  Regan  ;  "and  if  you'd  take  my 
advice,  I  know  another  you'd  send  along  wid  him." 

"  Who  ? "  was  asked  by  all. 

"  A  black  thraitor  that'll  hang  every  man  of  us,  if  we 
don't  take  care." 

"  Is  it  Rory  O'More  you  mane  ?"  said  one. 

"  How  aisy  you  hit  it,"  said  Regan,  "  without  my  tellin' 
you.     It's  a  sign  there's  truth  in  it." 

"Settle  one  thing  at  a  time,"  said  Flannerty.  "  I  know 
you  hate  Rory  ;  but  that's  no  rayson  you're  to  disturb  us 
with  it  always.     Settle  about  Scrubbs  first." 

"  Bon,''  said  the  Frenchman.  And  it  was  soon  decided 
by  the  majority  of  opinions  that  to  transport  the  collector 
was  the  safest  course  to  pursue  ;  and  that  being  agreed 
upon,  it  next  became  matter  of  consideration  how  he  was 
to  be  secured. 

In  the  midst  of  this  consultation  De  Welskein  kept  a 
sharp  eye  to  the  fire,  to  see  if  Darby  was  minding  his  busi- 
ness. He  caught  him  still  attending  more  to  the  matter  in 
debate  than  the  cooking.  ''■  Detc  !  vill  you  mind  de  paut .? 
or,  by  gar,  you  let  'im  run  over  de  way." 

"  By  my  sowl,  it  couldn't  do  that  if  it  had  twice  as  many 
legs,"  said    Darby. 

"  Mr.  New  Jane,"  said  Solomon  to  De  Welskein,  whose 
name  of  Eugene  was  thus  Hibernicized,  "  will  you  take  the 
collecther  wid  you  thin  ?  " 

"  Certanlee  !  ye  kesh  him  for  me,  and  me  mek  gentilman 
of  'im— tek  him  to  traavel." 

"  The  pot  is  busy  bilin',  "  said  Darby,  who  wished  his 
guard  over  the  culinary  department  to  be  ended. 

"Well,  don't  let  it  run  over  the  zua}\  avic"  said  Solomon, 
quizzing  De  Welskein. 

To  the  low  laugh  that  follovred  the  Frenchman  replied, 


2i8  RORY  O'MORE. 

"  Vieux  chaudronnier  de  campagne,  yoii  mek  ghem  aiif  me — ■ 
old  rog  !  Sacre  !  tek  care  you  get  no  dinnaire,  mebbee — 
how  you  lik  dai  ?  ha,  ha  !  " 

De  Welskein  now  resumed  his  culinary  cares,  and  the 
dinner  was  pronounced  ready  for  discussion.  No  time  was 
lost  in  lifting  the  pot  from  the  fire  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  dinner  was  placed  on  the  board,  and  all  were  prepared 
to  make  a  vigorous  attack  upon  it,  when  Solomon  said,  in 
a  tone  of  mockery,  "  Oh,  you  haythens  !  why,  thin,  would 
you  begin  to  ate  without  sayin'  grace  ? "  and  he  arose  as  if 
to  give  a  benediction. 

"  Sacre  nam  de  diable  !  "  said  the  Frenchman  ;  "  vaut  you 
do,  you  old  fool  ?" 

"  I'm  goin'  to  say  grace,"  said  Solomon,  winking  at  the 
rest  of  the  party  ;  and  raising  his  eyes,  with  a  sanctimoni- 
ous air,  he  said  in  mock  solemnity  : 


'  One  word's  as  good  as  ten  ; 
Leather  away — amen  !  " 


The  Frenchman  joined  in  the  laugh  that  Solomon's  old 
and  brutal  joke  produced,  and  exclaimed,  "  Old  home- 
bogue  !  sac7-e  chaudronnier  de  campagne  !  "  as  he  attacked  his 
own  stew,  which  was  not  long  in  being  demolished,  and 
the  table  was  soon  clear  of  everything  but  the  brandy- 
bottle,  which  still  continued  to  make  its  rounds. 

"And  now,  this  bein'  Sunday,"  said  the  tinker,  "I 
brought  the  good  books  wid  me  for  our  edification  ; "  and 
he  pulled  from  his  pocket  a  greasy  pack  of  cards,  whose 
rounded  corners  and  nearly  obliterated  faces  bore  testi- 
mony to  the  many  contests  in  which  they  had  been  en- 
gaged. 

This  movement  of  Solomon's  was  received  with  welcome 
by  the  whole  party,  and  a  game  was  immediately  called 
for.  The  game  they  played  was  one  which  has  long  been 
a  favorite  in  Ireland,  and  still  continues  to  be  so  among  the 
peasantry.  It  is  called  "  five  and  ten  "  when  played  be- 
tween two  persons,  or  four  engaged  as  partners  ;  but  when 
a  larger  number  is  enlisted  it  is  called  "  spoil  five,"  and  a 
poulexs  played  for.  The  same  cards  are  influential  in  both 
games,  though  a  totally  different  play  is  required  in  one 
from  the  other  ;  for  in  the  former  the  object  is  to  win  as 
many  tricks  as  you  can,  vvliile  in  the  latter  your  own  hand, 
if  not  sufficiently  strong  to  secure  triumph,  is  always  sac- 
rificed to  the  common  good  of  "  spoiling"  the  endeavors 


/I'OA'l'   O'MORE.  2T9 

of  a  more  fortunate  holder  of  cards,  and  thereby  increasing 
\.\\t, poule ;  hence  its  name  of  "spoil  five."  But  in  either 
form  this  game  is  a  great  favorite  with  the  peasantry,  and 
is  played  by  them  with  considerable  skill  ;  there  is  a  re- 
mote resemblance  between  it  and  ecarte,  which  is  much 
the  inferior  game  of  the  two,  and  though  "  spoil  five  "  does 
not  bear  the  stamp  of  fashion,  it  requires  more  acuteness 
in  playing  than  many  other  games  I  have  seen. 

"  Sol,  the  dale  is  yours — it's  only  fair,  since  you  brought 
the  cards,  my  boy,"  said  Flannerty  ;  "  so  let  us  see  who'll 
play.  We're  too  many  for  'five  and  ten,'  so  we  must 
have  the  'spoil  five.'  There's  too  many  of  us  for  that  same 
to  play  all  at  wanst,  but  we  must  begin,  anyhow,  and  we 
can  change  hands  by  turns.  Come — there's  Solomon,  and 
myself,  and " 

"And  the  munseer,  of  course,"  said  Regan. 

This  proposition  was  not  relished  by  the  company,  evi- 
dently ;  for  the  Frenchman's  adroitness  with  the  pack  was 
no  secret  to  them,  and  they,  very  naturally,  did  not  wish 
to  engage  with  such  an  adversary  ;  though  no  one  liked 
to  speak  out  his  objection  ;  and  the  foreigner,  with  great 
readiness,  at  once  interposed  his  own  denial  to  such  a 
proposal. 

"  No,  no — muss  not  play — cars  do  for  me  whatever  he 
please  me — so  my  honner  is  not  satisfy  ;  for  dough  you 
\ino\\ parfaitemeni  I  avoos  not  play  my  trick  wis  my  frens, 
for  dat  all  de  same  my  honner  woos  not  be  happy." 

"  We're  much  obleeged  to  your  honor,"  said  Flannerty  ; 
"  to  be  sure,  we  know  you're  a  gintleman,  every  inch  o' 
you." 

"  Oui !  Old!"  said  the  Frenchman,  proudly. 

"  Sure  enough,  faith,"  said  Flannerty,  "it  is  we  that  are 
the  ralegintlemen,  for  we  have  little  work  and  a  grate  dale 
o'  pleasure.  But  come,  make  up  the  game."  This  was 
soon  done,  and  they  commenced  play  with  much  spirit. 

Now,  the  Frenchman,  in  relinquishing  a  part  in  the  game, 
served  two  purposes.  In  the  first  place,  it  gave  his  com- 
panions the  notion  that  his  own  sense  of  propriety  forbade 
his  engaging  on  it  ;  and  in  the  next,  it  left  him  at  liberty 
to  go  round  the  board  and  see  all  the  hands,  and  then  com- 
mujiicate,  by  concerted  signal,  the  best  play  to  Solomon, 
who  was  his  confederate  in  his  system  of  plunder  on  their 
associates  ;  the  old  saying  of  "  honor  among  thieves  "  hold- 
ing as. good  in  this  instance  as  in  most  others. 

On  went  tlie  game.     Whenever  Solomon  held  a  hand  of 


230  /COAT  O'A/OA'/t. 

sufficient  force  to  need  no  aid,  tlie  Frenchman  kept  bc)'ond 
reach  of  the  gamesters,  the  better  to  screen  his  purpose  : 
and  whenever  tlie  tinker's  cards  were  so  weak  as  to  render 
finesse  of  no  avail,  he  would  stand  behind  him  and  say  as 
some  card  was  played,  "  Ha  !  dat  is  not  good  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know?"  the  tinker  would  cry,  in  affected 
displeasure. 

"Me  knowver  well." 

'^  Not  you  in  troth — go  tache  your  mammy  to  milk  ducks  ! 
I  know  more  o'  'spoil  five'  than  all  the  Frinchmen  that 
ever  was  born.  Play  !  "  said  he  to  his  fellow  gamesters. 
"  Hillo !  the  live  fingers  !  by  dad,  I'm  done  !  Well,  the 
game's  spylte,  anyhow.     Dale,  Regan." 

The  cards  were  distributed  again,  and  Solomon  having 
the  ace  of  trumps,  put  out  a  weak  card  from  his  hand  to 
take  in  the  trump  card  in  its  place,  saying,  as  is  customary, 
"  I  rob." 

"  By  my  sowl,  you  have  been  doin'  that  ever  since  we  sat 
down  a'most !"  said  Flannerty.  "I  dunna  how  you  con- 
thrive  to  win  so  often." 

"  When  you  play  as  long  as  I  have  played,  ma  bouchal, 
you'll  not  wondher,"  said  Solomon,  very  quietly  taking 
the  turned-up  trump  card  from  its  place  on  the  pack. 
"That's  nothing  to  what  I  can  do.  Give  me  a  dhrop  of 
brandy,  munseer,  as  you're  idle." 

The  Frenchman  handed  him  the  bottle,  saying  at  the 
same  time,  "Wat  is  dat  you  say  abous  nussing?" 

"  I  say  that  is  nothing  to  what  I  can  do,"  said  Solomon, 
who  put  the  bottle  to  his  mouth  and  took  a  copious  swig. 

"Mafoi!  everyting  in  dis  world  is  nussing,"  said  the 
Frenchman — "  nussing  at  all." 

"Oh,  be  aisy  with  your  larning,  munseer,"  said  Flan- 
nerty. 

"  Bote  I  say  dat  is  true,"  repeated  the  Frenchman  ;  "  all 
de  univers  is  nussing." 

"  And  am  I  nothing  ?  "  asked  Solomon. 

"  Nussing  at  all,"  said  the  Frenchman. 

"And  is  this  nothing?  "  again  he  asked,  holding  up  the 
jar  of  brandy. 

"  Nussing  at  all ;  everyting  is  nussing." 

The  old  tinker  put  the  jar  to  his  mouth,  and  finishing 
the  remaining  spirit  that  was  in  it,  he  withdrew  it  from  his 
lips,  saying,  "  Well,  take  nothing  from  nothing  and  noth- 
ing remains;"  and  he  held  up  the  inverted  bottle  amid 
the  laughter  of  his  companions. 


RORY  O'MORE.  221 

On  went  the  game,  and  the  laughter  and  the  drinking 
and  the  cheating,  until  a  dead  pause  was  produced 
among  the  noisy  group  by  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning,  fol- 
lowed by  a  loud  peal  of  thunder,  v/liich  suddenly  inter- 
rupted their  revelry.  The  laugh  was  silenced,  the  winning 
card  upheld  in  the  suspended  hand  of  the  gamester,  and 
the  flask  arrested  in  its  progress  to  the  lips  of  the  baccha- 
nal ;  looks  of  wonder  tinged  with  terror  were  exchanged 
among  the  listeners,  and  while  they  were  yet  fear-bound, 
another  flasli  gleamed  through  a  narrow  grating  which 
admitted  a  small  portion  of  light  and  air  to  the  vault,  and 
its  white  and  vivid  glare  made  the  dull  red  blaze  of  the 
fire  they  sat  near  seem  more  lurid.  The  gang,  to  an  im- 
aginative mind,  might  have  seemed  like  a  troop  of  unholy 
spirits  round  a  watch-fire  of  the  nether  world. 

"  God  be  good  to  me  !  "  said  Regan,  dropping  the  card^ 
from  his  hand;  "did  you  ever  see  anything  like  that' 
I'll  play  no  more — it's  not  good  to  play  on  a  Sunday;'" 
and  he  arose. 

"  Bah  !  don't  be  a  fool,"  said  the  Frenchman,  who  war;. 
the  most  unconcerned  of  the  party,  and  who  assumed  to 
be  more  unconcerned  than  he  really  was  ;  "you  no  philos* 
ophe — tonzer  and  loightning  is  nussing  but  natture.  You 
no  frighten  at  de  sun,  and  de  moon,  and  de  star,  which  is 
natture  as  well  as  de  tonzer  ;  you  might  as  well  be  fright 
for  de  watter  you  drink  as  de  tonzer." 

Another  tremendous  peal  silenced  the  babbling  of  the 
Frenchman,  who,  when  the  lessening  reverberations  died 
away,  said  in  a  very  altered  tone,  "  Dere  is  gret  shange  in 
de-wedder." 

Regan  had  ascended  from  the  vault  when  he  left  his 
game,  and  on  gaining  the  ground  story  of  the  building  and 
looking  forth,  he  beheld  a  great  change  indeed  from  the 
aspect  the  scene  had  worn  when  he  descended  from  the 
hill  top  a  short  time  before.  One  of  those  sudden  storms 
peculiar  to  the  season  had  come  on  ;  the  heavens  were 
dark,  the  forked  lightning  only  dispelling  the  gloom  with 
terrified  and  momentary  brightness,  the  rain  falling  in  that 
deluging  profuseness  characteristic  of  such  elementary 
commotion,  and  the  frolic  stream  that  ran  through  the 
valley  becoming  a  raging  torrent.  He  returned  to  his 
companions,  and  had  scarcely  descended  the  ladder  which 
led  to  the  vault,  when  a  great  crasii  rang  over  the  vaulted 
roof  ;  there  was  no  mistaking  the  sound — it  Vv-as  evident 
the  building  had  been  struck  by  lightning,  and  everyone 


232  RORY   O'MORE. 

vrho  yet  held  his  cards  flung  them  down  and  sprung  to  his 
feet,  and  looks  and  exclamations  of  terror  burst  from  the 
gang. 

"  Let  us  lave  the  place,"  said  Regan  ;  "it's  onlooky." 

"  We're  safer  here  than  anywhere  else,"  said  Solomon, 
he  and  De  Welskein  being  the  only  persons  who  retained 
their  self-possession,  though  the  withered  face  of  the  old 
tinker  was  paler  than  ordinary. 

'*  Ver  true,  vion  ^w/,"  said  the  Frenchman;  "come — 
come  round  de  fire,  and  tek  some  brandee.  Gret  shange 
in  de  wedder,  by  gar  !  " 

*'  I  never  seen  sitch  rain  in  all  my  days,"  said  Regan, 
who  bore  a  particularly  troubled  aspect.  "  And  to  think 
of  sitch  terrible  thundher  bein'  so  late  in  the  saison  !  I  al- 
ways heer'd  it  was  onlooky  to  play  cards  on  Sunday  ;  and 
I  never  missed  mass  before  !  " 

"  Bah  ! "  said  the  Frenchman  ;  "  mebbee  you  better  go 
to  shappel  now." 

"  I  wish  to  the  Lord  I  heer'd  mass  to-day !  "  muttered 
Regan,  whose  superstitious  nature  operated  powerfully 
upon  him. 

Another  peal  of  thunder  followed. 

"  You  hear  that,  don't  you  ? "  said  Solomon. 

Regan  marked  himself  with  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and 
muttered  the  formula  of  blessing  himself.  "Isn't  it  won- 
dherful,  sitch  dhreadful  claps  o'  thunder  in  October  ?  " 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Solomon:  "the  heaviest  thundher- 
S'.torm  ever  was  in  my  memory  fell  on  a  Christmas  Day." 

"  It's  rainin'  as  if  heaven  and  earth  wascomin'  together," 
said  Regan. 

"  Don't  you  be  'fraid  of  dat,"  said  De  Welskein  ;  "  de 
'eaven  and  de  ert  stay  where  dey  are  ;  tek  some  brandee  !  " 

Some  sods  of  turf  were  thrown  upon  the  fire  to  increase 
it,  and  the  party  stood  around  the  hearth  in  silence,  awed 
by  the  increasing  storm,  and  the  fearful  glare  of  the  light- 
ning, but  instead  of  the  fire  showing  symptoms  of  reviving 
under  the  fuel  cast  upon  it,  a  low  hissing  sound  gave  warn- 
ing it  was  assailed  by  moisture,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
whole  floor  of  the  vault  was  covered  with  water.  The 
river  had  risen  to  a  fearful  height,  and  a  rapid  flooding  of 
this  subterranean  apartment  was  the  consequence.  There 
was  no  choice  left  now,  and  the  party  simultaneously 
moved  toward  tlie  ladder  that  led  to  the  upper  part  of  the 
Folly  ;  but  a  cry  of  horror  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  first 
man  who  gained  the  accustomed  opening,  when  he  found 


RORY  O'MORE.  223 

it  was  completely  blocked  up  by  the  fallen  masses  of  the 
building  the  lightning  had  smitten. 

A  scene  of  terror  and  confusion  now  arose,  which  no 
language  could  describe.  Even  De  Welskein,  though 
hitherto  heeding  not  the  elementary  commotion,  was  not 
proof  against  such  solid  evidence  of  it  as  the  tons  of  fallen 
masonry  that  choked  the  only  passage  from  the  vault  ; 
and  Solomon  shared  the  fear  in  common  with  the  rest. 
Regan  was  the  most  furious  of  the  set  ;  and  while  the 
amount  of  terror  which  the  thunder  excited  only  made 
him  pray,  the  increase  of  it,  which  the  horrible  fate  that 
seemed  to  await  him  produced,  made  him  curse. 

"  May  the  divil  resaive  you,  you  owld  villain  !  "  said  he 
to  Solomon  ;  "  what  made  you  bring  me  here  at  all  ?  I 
was  going  to  mass  only  iox your 

"  Me  bring  you  !  "  said  Solomon  ;  "  no,  you  chicken- 
hearted  murdherer — for  you  would  be  if  you  dar — it  was 
the  bitter  hate  brought  you  here.  You  kem  to  get  Rory 
O'More  out  o'  your  sight,  but  you'll  get  more  wather 
than  you'll  like,  yourself,  before  him — and  hell's  cure  to 
you  ! " 

"  G d— n  !  why  do  you  curse  for  ?  "  said  De  Wel- 
skein, who  now  thought  of  trying  to  escape  at  the  grated 
window. 

He  induced  them  to  come  down  the  ladder,  that  he 
might  rear  it  against  the  aperture  ;  and  having  done  so  he 
descended  rapidly.  But  the  grating  was  too  narrow  to  ad- 
mit him  to  pass,  and  too  strong  and  firm  to  be  shaken  in  a 
hurry  ;  in  the  meantime  the  water  was  rising  fast,  the  men 
being  already  knee-deep. 

"  Pull  him  down  out  o'  that,"  said  Regan,  "  and  let  us 
get  up  the  laddher  agin  to  the  door !  We'll  have  room 
enough  to  stand  up  there,  and  not  be  dhrownded  like  rats. 
Pull  him  down  !  " 

^'' Sile/ice, poltroon  !  "  said  De  Welskein.    "  You  poor  cow's- 

heart  !     G d n  !   let   ladder  'lone  ;   lissen,  all    you, 

lissen  !  " 

He  desired  that  the  stones  on  which  the  planks  had 
rested  to  form  their  dinner-table,  and  those  which  had 
served  for  seats  also,  should  be  rolled  over  near  the  wall, 
where,  by  piling  them  one  on  another,  a  foundation  would 
be  formed  on  which  to  rest  one  end  of  a  plank,  while  the 
other  extremity  might  be  supported  higher  up  on  the  lad- 
der, that  thus  they  might  be  preserved  from  drowning, 
while  they  could  beat  the  same  time  near  the  window,  at 


224  RORY  O'MORE. 

which  they  could  work  alternately  with  their  knives  till  the 
iron  grating  was  loosened,  and  their  egress  effected. 

This  plan  was  immediately  acted  upon,  though  terror 
still  prevailed  among  them.  Solomon  was  one  of  the  first 
to  follow  the  Frenchman's  advice  ;  and  as  he  approached 
the  table  of  planks,  he  saw  the  stakes  of  the  deserted  game 
lying  untouched  ;  even  in  such  a  moment  the  raving  appe- 
tite for  the  coin  could  not  be  repressed — he  pounced  upon 
the  money  and  made  it  his  own — daring  to  play  the  robber 
even  on  the  brink  of  eternity.  Regan  was  the  only  one 
who  perceived  him,  and  he  had  not  courage  enough  to 
speak  out ;  but  in  his  heart  he  wondered  at  and  cursed  the 
undaunted  old  miscreant. 

The  water  continued  to  gain  rapidly  upon  them,  and 
they  had  no  time  to  spare  in  making  the  proposed  arrange- 
ment for  their  safety.  When  it  was  completed,  there  was 
a  dispute  who  should  occupy  the  highest  point  on  the 
plank  ;  and  the  terrible  example  of  selfishness  and  ruf- 
fianism exhibited  would  only  disgust  were  it  recorded. 

It  was  an  awful  scene  !  There  were  those  whose  lives 
were  in  jeopardy  to  whom  an  unprepared  call  to  a  final  ac- 
count would  have  been  fearful  ;  and  yet,  among  them  there 
was  less  of  prayers  than  curses. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 


De  Lacy  Departs  for  France — Rory  Gives  a  Hint  for  Making  Good  Punch  , 
and  Scrubbs  Proves  the  Fallacy  of  the  Saying,  that  a  Man  Finds  Ilii 
Warmest  Welcome  at  an  Inn. 

The  same  day  that  was  appointed  for  the  meeting  of  the 
smugglers  in  the  Folly  was  destined  for  the  departure  of 
De  Lacy  from  the  cottage  of  Rory  O'More. 

De  Lacy  had  his  misgivings  whether  it  would  be  safe 
for  Rory  to  remain  in  the  country  after  what  had  happemed, 
and  feared  that  his  ready  and  generous  conversion  of  the 
colonel's  pass  to  his  friend's  safety  might  become  the  means 
of  his  being  discovered  by  the  colonel  and  his  party,  and 
marked  out  for  their  vengeance.  This  thought  weighed 
heavily  upon  him,  and  he  expressed  to  Rory  his  fears  upon 
the  subject,  with  an  offer  of  making  him  the  companion  of 
his  voyage,  and  so  securing  his  safety  ;  but  Rory  refused 
the  offer  with  thankfulness  for  the  kindness  and  considera- 


RORY   OWIORE.  22$ 

Lion  by  which  it  Was  prompted,  and  declared  his  intenti<jn 
lo  remain. 

"  Sure,  what  would  the  mother  and  Mary  do  without 
me?" 

This  was  his  only,  and  (with  him)  unanswerable  argu- 
ment against  the  measure  ;  so,  in  conclusion,  it  was  agreed 
that  De  Lacy  should  make  his  voyage  without  the  compan- 
ionship of  our  hero. 

**  I'll  go  with  you  to  see  you  off,  though,"  said  Rory. 

"No,  Rory,"  said  De  Lacy;  "if  you  will  not  bear  me 
company  altogether,  you  must  not  in  part.  As  you  arejde^ 
termined  on  remaining  behind,  it  would  be  a  still  further 
presumptive  evidence  against  you,  to  be  absent  even  for  a 
day  or  two  from  your  home." 

It  was  therefore  agreed  that  a  couple  of  horses  should 
be  hired  in  Knockbracken,  and  Conolly,  instead  of  Rory, 
become  De  Lacy's  guide  to  the  coast.  Knockbracken  hap- 
pened to  be  the  village  on  Regan's  side  of  the  country,  for 
that  in  the  neighborhood  of  O'More's  was  too  insignificant 
to  produce  a  horse  for  hire. 

The  parting  of  De  Lacy  from  the  cottage  was  painful  to 
all  parties — they  did  not  know  how  much  so  until  the  mo- 
ment came.  The  women  cried,  and  De  Lacy  was  silent — 
a  kindly  pressure  of  the  hand  of  the  mother  and  daughter 
was  the  last  parting  testimonial  of  friendship  he  gave 
them  ;  and  as  he  hurried  from  the  quiet  little  lane,  the 
widow  and  Mary  sent  after  him  many  a  fervent  blessing. 

Rory  accompanied  him  as  far  as  the  point  whence  he 
was  to  take  horse,  and  they  wended  their  way  thitherward 
in  comparative  silence.  The  approach  of  the  parting  hour 
is  saddening  ;  and  the  thought  which  in  happier  moments 
we  give  to  the  tongue,  the  heart  refuses  to  part  with  then. 

On  reaching  the  hostel  of  the  Black  Bull,  the  nags  of 
Larry  Finnegan  were  put  in  requisition  ;  and  while  Con- 
olly went  to  assist  in  their  preparation  for  the  road,  De 
Lacy  kept  Rory  for  the  few  last  words. 

"Rory,"  said  he,  "the  kindness  I  have  met  with  under 
your  mother's  roof  I  can  never  forget,  and  your  courage 
and  conduct  have  been  beyond  all  praise." 

"  Don't  mintion  it,  if  you  plaze,  Mr.  De  Lacy." 

"  I  should  be  ungrateful  if  I  did  not,"  said  De  Lacy. 
"  Now,  your  mother,  Rory,  would  not  permit  me  to  make 
Iver  any  acknowledgment  ;  but " 

'•  Murdher,  murdher  !  don't  disthress  me  !  "  said  Rory. 

"  Listen  to  me,   Rory,"  said  De  Lacy.     "  Though  your 
15 


226  RORY  O'MORE. 

mother  has  refused  anything  in  the  shape  of  remuneration, 
you,  I  hope " 

"  Is  it  me  ?"  said  Rory. 

"  Now,  ^/t"  listen  to  me!  "said  De  Lacy.  "  Surely  you 
won't  refuse  some  trifling  gift  from  your  parting  friend  as 
a  keepsake  ?" 

"Oh!  a  keepsake,"  said  Rory,  "is  another  affair." 

"That's  a  good  fellow  ! "  said  De  Lacy.  "  Here,  then — 
take  this,  and  keep  it  for  my  sake,"  and  he  drew  forth  a 
gold  watch. 

Rory  kept  looking  at  the  watch  and  De  Lacy  alternately 
in  wonder,  and  at  last  said  : 

"Oh,  something  less  costly  than  that,  if  you  plaze,  Mr, 
De  Lacy  ;  sure,  that's  worth  a  handful  o'  guineas.  And 
thin,  what's  more,  sure  I've  no  use  for  a  watch  ;  there's  the 
blessed  sun  that  rises  and  sets  evermore  ;  and  if  I  want  to 
know  the  time  o'  day,  I've  only  to  cock  up  my  eye  at  him, 
and  I  can  tell  it  a'most  as  well  as  if  he  was  a  clock — beg- 
gin'  his  pardon  for  comparin'  him  to  the  like — but  all  as 
one,  I  mane,  in  regard  of  the  hour." 

"  But,  Rory,  it  is  not  for  use,  but  as  a  keepsake,  I  wish 
you  to  take  it." 

"  Sure,  anything  else  will  do  as  well  for  a  keepsake  ; 
give  me  that  switch  out  o'  your  hand,  and  I'll  value  it  as 
much  as  all  the  watches  ever  was  made." 

"  That's  too  insignificant,  Rory — indeed  it  is  ;  think  of 
something  else." 

"Well,  then,  sir,  since  you  desire  me  to  say  the  thing 
myself  and  will  have  it  so,  there's  your  sleeve-buttons  ; 
and  if  you  give  thim  to  me,  it  is  proud  I'll  be  to  wear  the 
same  things  on  me  that  you  yourself  wore." 

"There,"  said  De  Lacy,  taking  them  from  his  wrist, 
"and  I  only  regret  they  are  so  worthless  a  gift." 

"Ah,  sir!  it  is  the  giver,  and  not  the  gift,  I  think  of," 
said  Rory. 

ConoUy  now  led  forth  the  horses  saddled  ;  and  though 
neither  the  beasts  nor  their  furniture  were  much  to  be 
admired,  De  Lacy  was  assured  the  rough  hacks  would  do 
him  good  service  ;  so,  mounting  into  a  very  old  high 
pommelled  saddle,  he  once  more  shook  hands  with  Rory, 
and  bidding  him  an  affectionate  farewell,  with  the  hope  of 
a  speedy  and  triumphant  return,  he  took  the  road  toward 
the  coast  and  was  soon  beyond  the  village. 

Rory  then  went  to  chapel  ;  and  thoughts  of  the  expedi- 
tion and  hopes  of  his  country  mingled  with  his  devotions, 


RORY   O'MORE.  22f 

and  a  prayer  for  the  safety  of  the  friend  from  whom  he 
had  just  parted,  rose  sincerely  from  his  heart.  Mass  being 
over,  he  returned  to  the  Black  Bull,  where  the  host,  Larry 
Finnegan,  was  serving  his  customers  with  tobacco  and 
drink. 

"  I'm  come  to  ax  you  for  something,  Larry,"  said  Rory. 

"  And  you  shall  have  it  with  pleasure,  my  buck,"  said 
Larry.  "  What  would  you  like  ?  I've  a  fresh  tap  here, 
and  it's  iligant." 

"  Nothing  in  that  way,  Larry,  to-day  ;  but  I  jist  came  to 
see  if  you're  done  with  the  crow-bar  I  lint  you  some  time 
agone,  as  I'm  in  want  of  it  myself  to  quarry  some  stones 
to-morrow." 

"  Yis  ;  there  it  is  standin'  over  in  the  corner  beyant  the 
hob  in  the  kitchen  forninst  you  ;  I'm  done  wid  it — many 
thanks  to  you  !  " 

"  Why,  thin,  what  would  you  want  with  a  crow-bar,  Fin- 
negan ?  "  said  one  of  his  customers. 

"  Oh,  it's  the  misthiss  you  should  ax  about  that !  "  said 
Rory. 

"  Why,  is  it  for  batin'  her  he  got  it  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Finnegan  ;  "  it's  a  flail  I  have  for  that." 

"  It  is  Misthiss  Finnegan  that  wants  it,"  said  Rory,  "  and 
I  wondher  you  never  heer'd  the  rayson." 

"  Why,  thin,  what  is  it,  Rory,  my  boy  ?  I'll  be  bound 
it's  a  quare  one  you'll  give,  anyhow." 

"  You  see,"  said  Rory,  "  she  makes  the  punch  so  sthrong, 
that  she  bent  all  her  spoons  sthrivin'  to  stir  it ;  so  she 
borrowed  the  crow-bar." 

"  Long  life  to  you,  Rory,  your  sowl  !  "  said  Finnegan,  who 
relished  this  indirect  compliment  to  the  character  of  his 
establishment.  "  Divil  be  from  me  but  you  won't  lave  the 
house  this  day  without  takin'  a  tumbler  with  the  misthiss, 
afther  that — and  she  shall  mix  it  herself  for  you — and  with 
the  crow-bar,  my  boy  !  " 

Rory  would  not  refuse  the  hospitality  offered,  so,  enter- 
ing the  kitchen,  he  sat  by  the  fire,  and  Mrs.  Finnegan  en- 
deavored to  support  the  character  he  had  given  her,  by 
brewing  one  of  her  best,  and  she  returned  to  the  kitchen 
in  smiles  to  present  Rory  a  "screeching"  tumbler  of 
punch. 

While  he  was  sitting  there,  chatting  and  sipping  his 
beverage,  the  storm  noticed  in  the  foregoing  chapter  be- 
gan to  threaten,  and  soon  burst  in  all  its  violence  over  the 
village.     The  women  blessed  themselves  ;  and  the  mirth 


23S  RORY   O'MORE. 

and  noise  of  the  public-house  sunk  before  tlie  peals  of 
thunder  which  rolled  above  them.  Rory,  remembering  he 
had  some  miles  to  walk  before  he  should  reach  his  home, 
went  to  the  door  to  look  out,  and  judge  if  the  storm  seemed 
but  a  sudden  burst,  or  threatened  a  longer  duration  ;  and 
in  the  angry  aspect  of  the  skies  he  saw  nothing  but  the 
alternative  of  a  long  wait  in  the  village,  or  a  wet  skin  before 
him.  As  he  looked  up  the  street,  Scrubbs  was  riding 
down  the  road  at  a  furious  pace  to  get  under  shelter  ;  but 
before  reaching  the  Black  Bull,  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning 
made  his  horse  start  violently,  and  the  suddenness  of  the 
action  brought  horse  and  rider  to  the  ground. 

"  God  bless  us  !"  exclaimed  Rory. 

*'  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  some  by-standers  within  the 
house,  who  had  not  seen  the  occurrence. 

"  I  b'lieve  the  collecthor  is  kilt  with  a  stroke  o'  light- 
ning ! " 

A  universal  exclamation  of  "God  bless  us!"  echoed 
Rory's  first  ejaculation,  and  the  people  crowded  to  the  door 
to  look  out. 

Scrubbs,  who  was  only  stunned  by  the  fall,  now  made 
an  effort  to  rise  ;  and  Rory  in  a  moment  ran  to  his  assist- 
ance and  was  by  his  side. 

"  You're  not  kilt  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  No,"  said  Scrubbs. 

"Are  you  scorched  itself  ?  " 

The  fall  of  Scrubbs  rendered  him  as  yet  unconscious  of 
the  meaning  of  the  question. 

"  By  dad  !  "  said  Rory,  "  I  thought  you  wor  kilt  with  the 
lightning  !  Come  into  the  house  out  o'  the  rain."  And  so 
saying,  he  led  Scrubbs  to  the  Black  Bull. 

Some  went  to  the  assistance  of  the  horse,  but  it  was  found 
the  animal  had  slipped  its  shoulder  and  could  not  rise  with- 
out help.  This  being  afforded,  the  poor  brute  limped  along 
to  the  stable  of  the  hostel. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  collector  was  quite  recovered, 
having  escaped  with  a  few  bruises  ;  and  his  own  safety  left 
him  at  liberty  to  lament  over  the  mishap  of  his  steed,  to 
whose  stable  he  repaired,  exclaiming  as  he  went,  "  It's  very 
unfortunate  !  " 

"  'Faith,  it  is  unfortunate,"  said  Finnegan,  "  that  your 
neck  wasn't  bruk  !  I'd  like  to  dhrink  at  your  wake." 

"  Oh,  God  forgive  you,  Larry  ! "  said  the  wife,  "why 
would  you  be  wishin'  the  man's  death  ? " 

"Bekase   there  would  be  a  blackguard  the  less  in  the 


RORY  O'MORE.  229 

world ;  sure  he  got  me  fined,  come  Candlemas  next  a  year; 
and  you  know  it." 

"  Troth,  he's  a  dirty  blackguard,  I  know,"  said  the  polite 
Mrs.  Finnegan  ;  "  so  lave  him  to  God." 

"  To  the  devil,  you  mane,"  said  Finnegan. 

"  Thrue  for  you,  by  my  soul,  Larry,"  said  some  of  the 
by-standers,  who  all  hated  Scrubbs  most  cordially. 

"  I  wondhcr  he  didn't  keep  a  tight  hand  over  the  baste  ! " 
said  one. 

"  Faix,  so  do  I  !  "  said  another  ;  "  for  he  keeps  a  mighty 
tight  hand  over  everybody  else." 

"Sure  enough,"  said  a  third;  "it's  he  that's  the  rale 
grinder." 

"Whisht  !  here  he  comes  back,  bad  cess  to  him  !"  said 
the  former  speaker,  as  Scrubbs  re-entered  the  house. 

But  the  man  who  dubbed  him  a  grinder,  though  he  did 
not  speak  the  word,  continued  to  sing  the  nickname  in  the 
collector's  face  ;  and  he  hummed  to  a   lilting  tune  : 

"Tarry,  high-ho  ! 
You  know 
Tarry,  high-ho  !   the  grinder;  " 

and  a  low  laugh  and  furtive  glances  exchanged  among  the 
peasants,  made  Scrubbs  feel  very  uncomfortable,  for  he 
suspected  they  bore  some  allusion  to  himself. 

There  was  not  one  voice  to  express  sorrow  for  his  acci- 
dent, nor  congratulation  upon  his  escape,  so  disliked  had 
he  made  himself  in  the  country  ;  and  but  for  Rory  O'More, 
whose  generous  heart  was  open  to  the  distress  even  of  a 
foe,  he  would  not  have  had  a  single  being  to  do  him  a  ser- 
vice. 

Scrubbs  wished  to  push  homeward,  and  asked  Finnegan 
to  let  him  have  a  horse  on  hire. 

"I  haven't  one,"  said  Finnegan. 

"You've  two,  you  mean,"  said  Scrubbs. 

"  They're  both  engaged,"  said  the  landlord. 

"  I'll  pay  you  whatever  you  ask,"  said  Scrubbs. 

"I  tell  you,  I  haven't  thim,"  said  Finnegan,  gruffly,  and 
he  added  in  an  undertone,  "  and  if  I  had,  you  shouldn't 
have  thim." 

"  Do  you  mean  they  are  both  engaged  ?  "  said  Scrubbs. 

"  Yis,"  was  the  short  answer. 

The  storm  continued  to  rage  on.  The  public-house  whose 
noisy  mirth  was  quelled  by  its  outbreak,  seemed  to  have 
gathered  an  additional  gloom  from  the  presence  of  the  coi- 


230  RORY  O'MORE. 

lector.  One  by  one  the  customers  of  the  Black  Bull  dropped 
off ;  tliose  who  lived  in  the  village,  first,  who  could  make 
a  run  through  the  storm  to  their  homes  ;  those  in  the  vi- 
cinity, next ;  and,  at  last,  when  there  seemed  no  chance  of 
its  abatement,  even  they  whose  homes  were  more  distant 
seemed  to  think  there  was  no  use  in  longer  tarrying  ;  and 
so,  wrapping  their  freize-coats  round  them,  burying  their 
faces  in  their  collars,  and  pulling  their  cauheens  tightly  over 
their  eyes,  they  one  by  one  made  for  the  door  ;  and  bal- 
ancing themselves  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold,  between 
a  wait  or  a  wetting,  they  butted  with  their  heads  against 
the  wind,  and  "  pelted  "  away  through  the  storm. 

Rory  and  Scrubbs  were  the  only  guests  left  within  the 
walls  of  the  Black  Bull,  and  Rory  seemed,  at  last,  inclined 
to  follow  the  example  of  those  who  departed.  On  express- 
ing this  intention,  Scrubbs  manifested  great  uneasiness, 
for  he  did  not  like  remaining  alone  in  the  public-house, 
whose  landlord  he  had  mulcted  in  a  fine  on  some  trivial 
pretext  ;  and  the  savage  manner  of  the  man,  added  to  the 
consciousness  of  the  cause  he  had  given  him  for  dislike, 
made  Scrubbs  loath  to  become  a  solitary  lodger  in  the  de- 
serted inn. 

When  he  found  Rory  determined  to  go,  and  that  his  way 
was  homeward,  he  expressed  a  desire  to  accompany  him, 
for  their  road  lay  together,  and  it  was  a  matter  of  great  im- 
portance to  the  collector  to  have  a  companion,  for  to  travel 
the  country  alone  on  foot  was  what  he  dreaded  too  much  to 
venture  upon,  and  considered  even  more  hazardous  than 
remaining  where  he  was. 

A  few  days  before  he  would  not  have  chosen  Rory  for  a 
companion  ;  but  the  circumstances  of  the  intended  arrest 
of  De  Lacy  had  mystified  him,  and  made  him  imagine  that 
perhaps  Rory  was  not  the  dangerous  person  he  had  taken 
him  for  ;  and,  at  all  events,  under  existing  circumstances, 
he  could  not  but  be  glad  of  his  convoy  ;  so,  declaring  him- 
self ready  to  face  the  road  on  foot  with  our  hero,  and 
thanking  Finnegan,  whose  care  of  his  horse's  shoulder  he 
urged,  Rory  said,  "  Good-by  !  "  to  the  landlord  of  the 
Black  Bull  and  his  punch-making  wife  :  and,  not  forgetting 
his  crow-bar,  sallied  forth  from  the  snug  shelter  of  the 
warm  hostel  to  buffet  the  chilling  storm  w^hich  still  raged 
with  unmitigated  fury. 

They  proceeded  in  silence  until  they  passed  the  skirts  of 
the  village  ;  when  Rory,  turning  from  the  high  road, 
Struck  into  a  path  through  the  fields  that  lay  beside  it. 


RORY   O'MORE.  23T 

"Where  are  you  going,  O'More  ?  "   said  the   collector. 
"  A  short  cut,"  said  Rory. 

"  Don't  0-0  through  the  fields,"  said  Scrubbs,  "  the  road 
is  safer." 

"  Why,  what  danger  do  you  dhread  in  the  fields  ?  "  said 

Rory. 

"  Only,  the  road  is  safer  ;  the  fields  are  so  lonely,"  said 
the  collector. 

"  Maybe  you're  afeerd  o'  me,  Mr.  Scrubbs,"  said  Rory. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  O'More  !  " 

"  Bekaze  you  may  go  back  to  the  Black  Bull  if  you  are. 
I  didn't  ax  your  company  ;  and  high-road  or  by-road  is  all 
one  to  me." 

"  Now,  O'More,  I  beg  your  pardon — don't  be  offended — 
but  indeed  these  by-paths " 

"  Arrah,  don't  be  so  frightful  !  "  said  Rory,  with  a  tone 
of  contempt  in  his  voice,  which  he  could  not  control  at 
this  exhibition  of  poltroonery  ;  "  it's  a  short  cut  of  full  two 
miles  to  quit  the  road  here,  and  head  up  the  banks  of  the 
sthream  through  the  glin  of  the  Folly." 

"  Bless  my  soul  !  "  said  Scrubbs,  laying  his  hand  on 
Rory's  arm  and  making  a  dead  stand :  "  Surely  you're  not 
going  through  that  horrid,  lonely  place  !  " 

"  In  troth  I  am,"  said  Rory,  "and  if  you  don't  like  to 
come,  as  I  said  before,  you  may  go  back." 

Scrubbs  was  in  a  painful  state  of  doubt ;  he  could  not 
tell  which  he  dreaded  most— the  Folly  or  Finnegan,  and 
thus  goaded  by  the  horns  of  the  dilemma,  or  rather  of  the 
Black  Bull,  he  ventured  to  go  forward  with  Rory.  After 
getting  over  about  half  a  mile  of  broken  ground,  they  top- 
ped the  hill  that  commanded  the  glen  of  the  Folly  ;  and 
when  Scrubbs  saw  the  state  of  swollen  turbulence  in  which 
the  stream  swept  down  the  valley,  he  asked  O'More,  in  one 
of  his  coward  tones,  if  he  would  venture  to  approach  it. 

"  Sure,  it  won't  bite  you,"  said  Rory. 

"  But  it  might  drown  you,"  said  Scrubbs. 

"  Thim  that's  born  for  hangin'  was  never  meant  for 
dhrownin,"  said  Rory,  in  a  questionable  tone. 

"  You  say  very  odd  things,  O'More,"  said  Scrubbs,  who 
could  not  fathom  whether  Rory  meant  himself  or  the  col- 
lector in  his  last  speech.  "  But  isn't  the  valley  danger- 
ous with  this  dreadful  flood  in  it  ?  " 

"  Faix,  there  will  be  worse  than  the  flood  in  it  when  you 
and  I  are  there  ! "  said  Rory,  whose  contempt  for  the  col- 
lector's pusillanimity  had  so  increased,  that  he   deemed  it 


232  IWRY  O'MORR. 

fit  subject  fur  mirth,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  torment  the 
paltry  coward  with  an  ambiguity  of  expression  which  left, 
in  the  vagueness  of  tlie  allusion,  the  application  of  it  open 
to  either  of  them  ;  so  that  he  might  endure  either  offence 
or  fear,  as  the  case  might  be, 

"  Are  you  sure  it's  safe,"  said  Scrubbs. 

"  It's  safe  enough  for  me,  anyhow,"  said  Rory  ;  '  I  don't 
know  if  you  be  a  dangerous  person." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  dangerous  ? "  said  Scrubbs. 

"Likely  for  hurt  or  harm,"  said  Rory. 

"  I  hope  not,  O'More,"  said  the  collector,  straining  to 
keep  up  with  Rory's  vigorous  pace  as  he  dashed  into  the 
glen  ;  and  as  they  approached  the  stream,  he  again  asked 
his  guide  if  he  did  not  consider  the  valley  impassable  with- 
out much  risk. 

"  Not  in  the  laste,"  said  Rory  ;  "  it's  over  an  hour  yet 
before  the  pass  up  the  valley  will  be  flooded."  So  saying, 
he  pressed  on,  and  was  drawing  near  the  walls  of  the  Folly, 
when  he  suddenly  stopped  and  said  to  Scrubbs :  "  Didn't 
you  hear  a  shout  ? " 

"Where  ?"  said  the  collector,  getting  as  close  to  him  as 
lie  could. 

"  I  thought  I  heerd  a  halloo,"  said  Rory  ;  "  listen  !  "  A 
burst  of  thunder  followed  ;  the  collector  shuddered. 

"  I  suppose  'twas  only  the  storm,"  said  Rory.  "  Let  us 
push  on  ;"  and  he  made  a  few  more  vigorous  strides  when 
his  course  was  again  arrested  by  a  loud  shout  which  was 
audible  in  one  of  the  lapses  of  the  tempest,  and  this  time 
even  Scrubbs  heard  it. 

The  shout  proceeded  from  the  grated  window  of  the 
vault  where  De  Welskein  and  his  companions  were  im- 
prisoned. They,  seeing  two  men  in  the  valley,  had  raised 
their  combined  voices  in  one  wild  chorus  of  despair,  to  at- 
tract their  attention  ;  and  observing  the  successful  result 
of  their  first  effort,  they  again  essayed  to  arrest  their  ob- 
servation in  the  same  manner  ;  and  when  the  men  paused 
the  second  time,  De  Welskein  took  his  handkerchief  from 
his  neck,  and  waving  it  through  the  bars  of  his  dungeon 
as  a  further  means  of  attracting  notice,  a  third  tremendous 
yell  issued  from  the  inundated  vault. 

"  Look,  look  !  "  said  Rory,  pointing  to  the  handkerchief 
he  saw  waving  from  the  Folly,  "  someone  is  calling  for 
help  there  !  " — and  he  was  going  forward  to  the  spot,  when 
Scrubbs  laid  his  hand  upon  liim,  and  said  : 

"  You  wouldn't  be  mad  enough  to  go  ?  " 


RORY  O'MORE.  233 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  You  don't  know  who  may  be  there." 

"  What  is  it  to  me  who  they  are  ? — they  want  help,"  s.iid 
Rory,  "and  that  is  enough." 

"  Let  me  beg  of  you,  O'More  !  "  said  Scrubbs,  endeavor- 
ing to  detain  him. 

Rory  shook  him  off,  and  said  very  decidedly,  "Mr. 
Scrubbs,  '\i you're  afraid,  that  is  no  raison  /should  be  ;  and 
if  you'd  lave  a  fellow-crathur  in  want  of  help,  God  forbid 
I'd  do  the  like  !  There's  some  accident  there  beyant,  and 
I'll  go  see  if  I  can  be  of  any  use." 

With  these  words  Rory  ran  toward  the  Folly  ;  and 
Scrubbs  followed,  because  he  was  afraid  to  remain  alone. 
On  approaching  sufficiently  close  to  recognize  persons, 
the  wonder  was  mutual  between  those  within  and  those 
without  the  vault  at  the  rencounter. 

"Murdher!  is  it  you,  Mr.  Divilskin ! "  said  Rory. 
"Why,  thin,  what  brought  you  there  at  all  ?" 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  to  describe  the  confused 
and  almost  unintelligible  conversation  that  ensued;  it  was 
rather  a  volley  of  vociferation  on  both  sides — the  French- 
man shouting  "  Ouvres  vite"  while  the  other  prisoners 
were  exclaiming,  "  Rory,  for  the  love  of  God  make  haste, 
or  we'll  be  dhrownded  !  " 

"  Wait  a  minute,  and  I'll  settle  the  business  for  you," 
said  Rory.  "  Sure,  and  wasn't  it  the  hoight  o'  good  luck 
I  happened  tc  have  the  crow-bar  with  me  ! " 

And  as  he  spoke,  he  put  the  powerful  implement  be- 
tween the  bars  of  the  grated  window,  and  wrenched  the 
rusty  irons  from  their  sockets  ;  then,  giving  a  hand  to  De 
Welskein,  he  assisted  him  in  his  egress  through  the  newly- 
made  opening,  and  in  a  few  seconds  the  whole  party,  so 
lately  incarcerated  in  a  dangerous  dungeon,  were  liber- 
ated even  by  the  very  man  against  whose  safety  one  of 
their  party  had  endeavored  to  direct  their  vengeance. 
And  now  a  terrible  example  was  given  of  the  facility  with 
which  past  mercies  are  forgotten,  and  of  the  hardness  of 
the  human  heart  when  brutalized  by  vice.  These  very 
men,  rescued  from  a  perilous  position,  and  perhaps  a  hor- 
rible death,  the  moment  they  were  released  gave  way  to 
their  vengeful  feelings,  and  thought  not  of  extending  to  a 
fellow-creature  the  mercy  that  Heaven  had  shown  toward 
tiiem. 

Flannerty  and  Regan  were  the  first  to  notice,  with  tri- 
umph, the  presence  of  Scrubbs,  and  they  pointed  it  out 


2j4  RORY  O'MORE. 

to  ihe  party  with  an  exclamation  of  blasphemous  rejoic. 
ing. 

"  By  the  holy,  we're  in  luck,  after  all ;  for  there  he  is — 
the  very  chap  we  were  waiting  for  ! " 

They  pointed  to  Scrubbs  as  they  spoke  ;  and  he,  whose 
fears  were  sufficiently  awake  before,  now  pressed  close  be- 
side Rory,  who  could  feel  his  tremor  as  he  leaned  for  sup- 
port against  him.  The  meaning  of  the  desperadoes  was  too 
evident  to  be  mistaken — it  was  manifest  their  menacing 
attentions  were  directed  against  the  collector  ;  but  as  Rory 
did  not  know  their  motive  for  such  a  proceeding,  he  said 
firmly  : 

"  Why,  what  do  you  want  with  him  ?  " 

"We  jist  want  to  take  a  loan  of  him,"  said  Jack  Flan- 
nerty,  who  advanced. 

"  See,  Flannerty,"  said  Rory,  who  extended  his  arm  as 
he  spoke,  in  token  of  his  desire  to  keep  a  distance  between 
the  parties  ;  "Mr.  Scrubbs  was  in  the  village  beyant,  and 
his  horse  fell  undher  him  ;  and  bein'  obleeged  to  walk 
home,  he  said  he'd  go  along  with  me.  When  I  was  comin* 
this  way  by  the  short  cut — as  you  know  it  is  toward  my 
place — Mr.  Scrubbs  asked  me  to  go  by  the  high-road  ;  but 
I  towld  him  this  was  the  best  way.  Now,  boys,"  said  he, 
appealing  to  the  whole  party,  "you  wouldn't  like  your- 
selves, if  you  promised  to  lade  a  man  safe,  that  he  should 
come  into  throuble  afther  ;  and  when  I  tell  yiz  this,  I'm 
sure  you'll  put  no  hurt  nor  harm  on  the  collecthor." 

"  Be  gor,  if  you  go  make  a  bellwether  o'  yourself  to  sitch 
fellows  as  that  over  the  counthry,  it's  a  busy  time  you'll 
have  of  it,  my  buck,"  answered  Flannerty.  "  Be  aisy,  and 
don't  be  howldin'  your  head  so  high." 

"  I  howld  my  head  no  higher  than  any  honest  man  may 
howld  it,"  said  Rory  ;  "and  I  say  that  the  man  who  has 
any  honor  in  his  heart  wouldn't  touch  him  that's  beside  me 
afther  what  I  say." 

"  To  the  divil  wid  you  and  your  honor  !  "  shouted  Regan. 
"  Will  your  honor  save  Darby  Daly  from  bein'  hanged  when 
that  vagabonc  swares  his  life  away  ?  and  you  wantin'  to  save 
the  villain  !  but,  birds  of  a  feather  flocks  together." 

"  You're  a  slandherous  scoundhrel,  Regan  !  "  cried  Rory, 
"and  it's  not  the  first  lie  you  said  of  me." 

Pegan  was  about  to  advance  on  O'More,  who,  raising 
his  crow-bar  in  the  act  of  striking,  exclaimed,  fiercely, 
•^  Keep  back,  or  by  the  mother  that  bore  me  I'll  brain 
you ! 


/?0/?V  O'MORE.  235 

Flannerty  dragged  back  Regan,  and  said,  "  I'll  tell  you 
what  it  is,  Rory,  the  collecthor  there  is  wanted,  and  there's 
no  use  in  your  makin'  any  bones  about  it,  for  we  are 
enough  to  have  our  will ;  so  do  what  we  plaze,  or  we'll 
make  you." 

"Don't  betray  me,  O'More  !"  cried  Scrubbs. 

"  Bethray  you ! "  said  Rory,  looking  with  withering 
contempt  on  the  craven  beside  him.  "  You  dirty  hound, 
who  would  run  af  ther  my  foot — to  say  sitch  a  word  to  me 
afther  what  you've  heard  !     Boys,  let  us  pass  !  " 

"No,  we  won't,"  said  Flannerty  ;  "we'll  have  him  ;"  and 
he  was  advancing  with  some  others. 

"Boys!"  cried  Rory,  in  an  appealing  tone,  "I  saved 
your  lives  five  minutes  ago,  and  all  I  ask  is  that  you'll  let 
us  go  quietly  out  o'  this." 

There  was  a  shout  of  "  No  ! "  from  the  group.  The 
trembling  collector  laid  hold  of  Rory. 

"Don't  grip  me  that  way,  or  I  can't  fight !  "  said  Rory  ; 
"mind  yourself,  you'd  betther."  Turning  to  the  group, 
he  then  added,  "  I  towld  you  I  considher  I'm  bound  in 
honor  to  this  man  to  see  him  safe  ;  and  if  ye  haven't  the 
heart  to  feel  it,  more  shame  to  you  !  But  if  it  goes  to 
that,  by  the  seven  blessed  candles  you'll  walk  over  my 
body  before  you  get  him  !  "  And  he  threw  himself  into  a 
posture  of  defence,  and,  with  the  w^eapon  he  held,  he  was 
a  formidable  adversary. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  yiz  he  \vas  a  thraitor  !  "  said  Regan.  "  If 
he  wasn't  would  he  do  what  he's  doin'  ?  Do  you  believe 
me  now  ?  " 

At  the  moment,  and  under  the  peculiar  circumstances 
joined  to  foregone  suspicions  of  Rory's  fidelity,  the  words 
of  Regan  were  like  sparks  on  gunpowder;  there  was  a 
shout  from  the  group  and  a  rush  on  Rory,  who  felled  two 
of  his  assailants  to  the  earth  as  they  advanced  upon  him, 
while  the  wretched  Scrubbs  struck  not  a  blow  in  his  own 
defence.  While  Rory  was  keeping  up  an  unequal  fight 
against  numbers,  his  vindictive  enemy  Shan  Dhu  came  be- 
hind him,  and  giving  him  a  severe  blow  under  the  ear,  for 
the  first  time  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Rory  stagger 
beneath  his  stroke.  In  a  moment  Rory  was  overpowered 
and  secured,  and  he  and  Scrubbs,  the  latter  of  whom 
prayed  in  the  most  abject  manner  for  mercy,  were  dragged 
within  the  walls  of  the  Folly  and  their  limbs  secured  by 
strong  cords  ;  for  until  this  measure  was  put  in  practice, 
Rory  continued  to  struggle  for  his  liberty. 


2^6  ROh'Y   O'MORE. 


-o 


When  he  was  rendered  quite  powerless,  he  and  the  coK 
lector  were  placed  in  an  upper  apartment  of  the  ruin,  with 
one  man  to  keep  watch  over  them  ;  while  the  others  re- 
mained on  the  ground  story,  to  consult  what  should  be 
done  with  the  prisoners.  Jack  Flannerty  still  recommended 
the  "dog's  knock,"  and  Solomon  chimed  in  his  chorus  of 
evil  omen,  that  "dead  men  tell  no  tales  ;"  but  the  majority 
dreaded  this  extreme  measure,  and  determined  on  sending 
Scrubbs  and  Rory  over  sea.  They  were  obliged,  however, 
to  wait  until  night  should  favor  their  undertaking,  as  in 
daylight  to  transport  their  prisoners  would  be  impos-. 
sible. 

While  the  council  were  consulting  below,  Rory  and  tha 
collector  were  engaged  with  their  own  thoughts  in  the 
apartment  above.  Rory  in  his  heart  cursed  the  unlucky 
chance  that  had  thrown  Scrubbs  in  his  way,  as  to  his  com* 
pany  he  very  justly  attributed  his  mishap  ;  and  yet  the 
generosity  of  his  temper  forbade  him  to  reproach  the  author 
of  his  misfortune  with  being  the  cause  of  it,  while  he  saw 
him  trembling  for  his  safety,  and  heard  the  moans  which 
escaped  from  his  pale  and  quivering  lips. 

As  for  Scrubbs,  such  was  his  grovelling  nature,  that  even 
after  the  noble  conduct  of  Rory,  he  was  still  suspicious  of 
him  having  led  him  into  a  trap,  and  that  his  resistance  was 
only  pretence  ;  and  at  last,  the  base  wretch  ventured  to 
give  his  filthy  suspicion  words. 

"  Oh,  O'More,"  faltered  he,  "why  did  you  betray  me 
into  their  hands  ?" 

"  Is  it  to  me  you  have  the  ingratitude  to  say  the  word," 
said  Rory,  "  af ther  my  runnin'  the  risk  o'  my  life  to  save 
you?" 

"Oh,  they  won't  hurt  you,  you  know;  but  they'll  mur- 
der me  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  they  won't  hurt  me  ?  There's  thim 
among  thim  ready  enough  to  belie  and  wrong  me  ;  and  my 
sthriving  to  save  you  has  made  me  as  bad  to  thim  in  their 
eyes  as  yourself." 

"  Oh,  they  won't  touch  you — you  know  they  won't,  and 
speak  to  them  for  me — do,  O'More  !  " 

"  I  see  the  mane  suspicions  you  have,  Mr.  Scrubbs  ;  and 
in  throth  it's  a  pity  an  honest  man  should  get  into  thrubble 
on  your  account,  for  you're  not  worth  it.  You  think  I'm 
cullogueing  with  these  vagabones,  and  that  I  oxiXy purtinded 
to  fight,  and  all  that  ;  and  if  you  worn't  as  bad  yourself  as 
to  do  the  like  you  wouldn't  suspect  another  of  it.     Get  out 


kORV   O'MORE.  237 

wid  you,  you  mane  spirited  dog  !  Troth  your  heart  is  a 
dunghill,  and  suspicion  is  the  cock  that  crows  on  it !  " 

Notwithstanding  all  this  abusive  outbreak  on  Rory's 
part,  Scrubbs  contrived  to  writhe  himself  over  nearer  to 
him  (for  both  men  were  bound  hand  and  foot  and  lying  on 
the  ground)  ;  and,  getting  so  close  as  to  be  able  to  w^hisper 
to  him,  so  that  the  sentinel  over  them  should  not  hear,  he 
said  : 

"  If  you'll  get  me  out  of  their  power,  I'll  give  you  a 
hundred^  pounds,  and  make  a  man  of  you." 

"Keep  your  dirty  bribes  and  thoughts  to  yourself,  if  you 
plaze  ;  I  want  neither  of  thira.  Make  a  man  o'  me  indeed  ! 
God  made  a  man  of  me  already,  and  thanks  be  to  him  for 
it,  it's  more  than  he  done  for  you,  you  pitiful  coward,  who 
hadn't  the  heart  even  to  sthrike  a  blow  in  your  defence. 
Get  out  !  and  don't  pison  my  ears  with  your  nasty 
thoughts." 

Regan  soon  after  entered  the  apartment,  having  left  the 
group  below,  when  the  consultation  was  over,  with  the 
base  desire  of  enjoying  the  sight  of  Rory's  prostration. 
He  told  the  man  on  guard  he  came  to  relieve  his  watch 
and  take  charge  of  the  safety  of  the  prisoners,  and  as  soon 
as  the  other  had  descended  he  approached  O'More,  and 
stood  over  him  with  malignant  enjoyment.  Rory  looked 
up  at  him  and  said  :  "  Shan  Dhu,  what's  this  for  ?" 

"  For  thraitors,"  answered  Regan. 

"  I'm  no  thraitor,"  said  Rory. 

"  You  lie  !  "  growled  the  brute. 

"  If  I  wasn't  tied  as  I  am,  you  darn't  say  the  word  to  me," 
said  Rory. 

"  Keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head,  or  it'll  be  worse  for 
you,"  said  Regan. 

"  You're  no  man,  Shan,  or  you  wouldn't  do  this  !  " 

**  If  you  say  another  uncivil  word,  I'll  kick  you  till  I 
make  you  black,  as  a  thraitorous  dog  ought  to  be  kicked." 

"  You're  a  black-hearted  coward  !  "  cried  Rory,  as  fiercely 
as  if  he  were  at  liberty. 

The  savage  who  stood  over  him  proved  the  truth  of  the 
words,  by  giving  him  a  fierce  kick  on  the  side  with  his 
heavy  brogue,  which  took  away  his  breath  ;  and  it  w^as 
only  the  sound  of  ascending  footsteps  that  interrupted 
Regan  in  his  brutality  ;  he  withdrew  from  the  prisoners  to 
the  door. 

''  You're  wanted  below,"  said  the  man  who  entered  the 
apartment  which  Regan  quitted* 


238  RORY    O'MORE. 

"  O'More,"  said  the  collector,  who  was  convinced  by  the 
fierce  reality  of  Regan's  conduct  that  Rory  was  in  the 
hands  of  enemies  as  well  as  himself,  "  I  see  I  was  wrong 
in  what  I  thought  about  this  affair." 

"It's  likely  to  be  worse  with  us  too,  I'm  afeared,"  said 
Rory. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  when  I  asked  you  if 
the  valley  wasn't  dangerous,  when  we  came  into  the  glen  ?  " 

"No." 

"  You  said  we  should  find  something  more  dangerous 
than  the  flood  in  it.  You  spoke  in  fun,  O'More — it  has 
come  true,  to  your  sorrow." 

"  I  found  more  than  I  bargained  for,  'faith  !  But,  now 
that  you  remind  me  of  saying  that,  there's  something  else 
it  puts  me  in  mind  of  that  I  said  also — and  equally  thrue, 
to  our  cost." 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  asked  the  collector, 

*'  I  said,  '  thim  that  was  born  to  be  hanged  would  never 
be  dhrownded  ; '  and  sure  enough,  I  saved  the  vagabones^ 
from  the  dhrowndin' — and  'pon  my  sowl  I'm  much  mis- 
taken if  the  gallows  won't  be  busy  wid  someo'  them  yet  ?" 

**  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Rory  O'More,"  said  the  man  who 
was  keeping  guard  over  them — "divil  a  much  harm  I  wish 
you,  and  may  be  there's  not  much  harm  intindid  you  ;  but 
I'd  recommend  you  to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head,  or 
may  be  it's  little  more  you'll  ever  spake.  Now  take  that 
as  a  word  to  the  wise." 

Rory  took  the  hint — for  the  words  were  spoken  in  a 
tone  that  implied  the  speaker  had  rather  a  friendly  feeling 
than  otherwise,  and  to  advice,  so  given,  he  attended. 
Powerless  as  he  lay,  however,  and  in  the  hands  of  enemies 
as  he  was,  he  did  not  despair ;  his  fertile  brain  w^as  at  work 
in  many  a  wild  conjecture  as  to  what  the  intention  of  his 
captors  could  be,  and  in  forming  contrivances  how  he 
might  outwit  them  and  make  good  his  escape. 

After  some  hours  thus  spent,  at  length  he  and  his  fellow- 
prisoner  were  raised  from  their  recumbent  position  ;  and 
the  ligatures  being  removed  from  their  legs,  they  were 
taken  from  their  place  of  confinement  and  desired  to  walk 
in  silence  in  the  midst  of  the  smugglers.  It  was  night,  and 
still  continued  to  rain  and  blow  violently  ;  so  that  no  time 
could  be  more  favorable  to  their  purpose  of  removing 
Rory  and  Scrubbs  with  all  speed  and  secrecy  to  the  coast. 
After  walking  some  miles,  they  stopped  at  a  cabin  in  a 
very  lonely  situation  ;  where*  having  knocked  for  admit- 


RORY  O'lMORE.  239 

tance,  the  door  was  opened  by  a  man  of  ruffianly  appear- 
ance, whom  Rory  had  never  seen  before,  though  the  rest 
cf  the  party  were  known  to  him.  Here  refreshment  was 
called  for,  and  though  the  fare  was  coarse,  it  was  accept- 
able after  their  walk  in  the  rain.  To  Rory  it  was  particu- 
larly so,  for  he  had  been  fasting  since  breakfast,  and  not- 
withstanding his  questionable  position,  he  had  too  much 
CCTjrage  to  let  such  an  occurrence  spoil  his  appetite.  But 
fear  had  taken  such  possession  of  the  cowardly  collector, 
that  he  could  not  swallow  a  morsel,  and  a  glass  of  spirits 
was  all  that  he  could  get  down. 

During  the  time  they  were  in  the  house,  nothing  was 
spoken  in  presence  of  the  prisoners  which  could  enlighten 
them  as  to  the  smugglers'  intentions.  Indeed,  there  was 
more  silence  than  usual  among  so  many  Irishmen  ;  and 
whenever  any  communication  seemed  to  be  desired  be- 
tween any  of  the  parties,  they  either  conversed  ia  low 
whispers  beside  the  fire,  or  beckoned  toward  the  door,  and 
preferred  making  their  confidence  outside  in  the  rain,  to 
incurring  the  risk  of  being  overheard  by  Rory  or  the  col- 
lector. 

After  some  time,  a  car  and  horse  were  provided,  and 
Scrubbs  and  Rory  again  bound  by  the  feet  and  placed  on 
the  car.  In  vain  did  Rory  request  the  privilege  of  being 
allowed  to  walk  !  "  Tare  an'  ouns  !  "  said  he,  "  whatever 
you  may  do,  don't  make  a  pig  or  a  calf  o'  me,  and  spanshel 
me  up  on  a  car  as  if  you  wor  drivin'  me  to  market !  " 

"  Howld  your  tongue  and  do  what  you're  bid  ! "  was  the 
only  answer  he  received. 

In  this  fashion  they  pushed  on  some  miles  further,  and 
then  making  another  halt,  two  of  the  men  and  De  Welskein 
obtained  horses,  and  the  prisoners  being  consigned  to  their 
care,  the  rest  of  the  escort  dropped  off.  They  travelled 
thus  all  night,  and  the  horse  which  drew  the  car  was  urged 
to  as  much  speed  as  he  could  effect  under  the  draught  of 
so  lumbering  a  vehicle,  to  the  no  small  cost  of  poor  Ror^^'s 
ribs  ;  for  when  at  dawn  they  came  to  a  halt,  at  a  house 
equal  in  loneliness  to  the  one  they  had  first  entered,  and 
loosening  Rory's  bands,  told  him  to  walk  in,  it  was  as 
much  as  he  could  do  to  command  the  use  of  his  limbs,  so 
benumbed  and  bruised  had  he  become  in  the  course  of 
this  nocturnal  kidnapping  journey. 


240  JiORY   O'MORE. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Giving  an  Example  of  Magisterial  Severity  and  Maternal  Tenderness. 

The  disappearance  of  the  collector  produced  a  greet 
sensation  in  the  country.  As  far  as  a  day  went,  his  ab-  • 
sence  from  home  without  being  accounted  for,  however  it 
might  cause  surprise,  gave  nobody  any  uneasiness,  but 
when  a  second  day  elapsed  without  his  reappearance  within 
his  own  walls,  it  caused  inquiry,  and  inquiry  seemed  only 
to  perplex  people  more — that  is,  as  long  as  they  inquired 
where  most  they  expected  to  find  intelligence  of  him. 
But  in  this  case,  as  in  most  others  of  the  sort,  chance  did 
more  than  intention,  and  the  clew  to  the  disappearance  of 
the  collector  was  found  by  the  casual  visit  of  a  customer 
to  the  Black  Bull.  This  person  was  no  other  than  Sweeny, 
who  was  a  crony  of  Scrubbs,  and  supplied  his  wife  with 
patent  medicine,  while  her  husband  gave  him  pettifogging 
jobs  of  various  sorts  ;  therefore,  when  his  patron  was  mis- 
sing, Sweeney  offered  his  services  in  the  endeavor  to  find 
him.  In  so  doing,  he  had  overridden  his  horse  one  day  ; 
and,  arriving  at  the  Black  Bull,  he  stopped  to  give  the  ani- 
mal some  rest  and  a  feed,  for  it  was  yet  some  miles  to  his 
own  home. 

On  following  his  horse  into  the  stable,  what  was  his  sur- 
prise to  see  Scrubbs'  steed,  which  still  remained  under  the 
care  of  Larry  Finnegan,  who  kept  him  until  he  should  be 
sent  for,  and  had  not  as  yet  heard  of  the  collector's  disap- 
pearance. 

"Hillo!"  exclaimed  the  attorney,  "what  brings  Mr. 
Scrubbs'  horse  here  ? " 

"  He  left  him  here  himself  last  Sunday,"  was  the  an- 
swer. 

"And  where  is  Mr.  Scrubbs  himself  ?" 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  " 

"  Because  he  was  here  last !  " 

"  Last  Sunday  he  was  certainly,  but " 

"  Ay,  but — there's  the  thing  ! — what  has  become  of  him 
since  ? " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?" 

"  Because  this  is  the  last  place  which  I  have  heard  of 
him  ;  and  if  you  cannot  give  a  satisfactory  accoimt  of  the 
matter,  I  can  tell  you  it  will  be  a  serious  business. 


KORY   O'MORE.  2.;i 

This  led  nt  once  to  an  explanation  of  the  circumstances 
which  had  occurred  at  the  Black  Bull  ;  and  the  upshot  of 
the  business  was  that  Scrubbs  had  left  the  house  in  com- 
pany with  Rory  O'More,  and  had  not  since  been  heard  of. 
The  next  step  to  take,  of  course,  was  to  go  to  O'More  and 
ask  him  what  had  become  of  the  collector  :  but  Sweeny 
did  not  like  to  make  the  visit  alone,  for  this  bit  of  mystery, 
connected  with  Rory's  name,  aroused  all  the  latent  sus- 
picions of  him,  w4iich  the  appearance  of  the  colonel's  pass 
laad  somewhat  qualified,  if  not  dispelled  ;  and  the  remem- 
brance of  De  Lacy's  case  of  pistols,  and  his  manifest 
promptness  to  use  them,  exercised  so  potent  an  influence 
over  the  attorney  that  he  determined  to  visit  Rory  v^-ith 
witnesses.  This  was  his  legal  reason  for  the  step  ;  but  the 
fact  was,  that  Sweeny's  courage  was  of  a  very  companion- 
able nature. 

To  the  captain  of  the  yeomanry  corps,  therefore,  he  hied 
him  ;  and  the  noble  commander,  on  Sweeny's  detailing  the 
occasion  of  his  application,  determined  to  pay  a  second 
visit  to  Rory's  cottage,  with  all  the  force  of  his  troop  he 
could  muster  at  a  short  notice. 

In  this  determination  let  us  leave  them  for  the  present, 
and  take  a  peep  at  the  quiet  domicile  they  threatened  with 
their  visit. 

Though  Rory  was  expected  to  return  to  his  home  the 
day  he  left  it  with  De  Lacy,  yet  his  absence  created  no 
alarm,  though  Mary  and  his  mother  sat  up  late  in  expec- 
tation of  his  coming  home.  When  the  next  day  elapsed 
without  his  making  his  appearance,  they  concluded  he 
could  not  prevail  on  himself  to  part  with  De  Lacy  at  the 
village,  and  that  he  had  accompanied  him  all  the  way  to 
the  coast. 

In  this  satisfied  belief  they  had  indulged  up  to  the 
period  that  the  yeomanry  captain  put  his  plan  of  making 
an  armed  descent  on  the  w'idow's  cottage  into  execution  : 
and  it  was  with  no  small  surprise  and  alarm  she  saw  her 
humble  walls  again  environed  by  the  amateur  dragoons. 
The  captain  and  Sweeny  demanded,  on  entering  the  house, 
to  see  Rory. 

"  He's  not  here,  plaze  your  honor,"  said  the  widow. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  said  they. 

Now  this  was  rather  a  poser,  for  the  widow  did  not  like 

to  tell  the  cause  of  Rory's  absence — or,  indeed,  it  would  be 

fitter  to  say,  did  not  dare  to  tell  it — and  so  she  "  beat  about 

the  bush  "  as  well  as  she  could  for  some  time,  until,  from 

z6 


242  RORY  O'MORE. 

the  nature  of  her  answers,  the  captain  had  his  deepest  sus. 
picions  strengthened,  and  he  said  : 

"  The  fact  is,  he  is  afraid  to  show  himself,  and  is  con- 
cealed." 

"What  should  he  be  afraid  of,  sir  ?"  said  the  widow. 

"  He's  concealed  !  "  said  the  captain,  "  and  we  must 
search  for  him.  And  where  is  the  gentleman  you  had  liv- 
ing here  with  you  ?  " 

"  He's  left  the  place,  sir." 

"  Ho,  ho  !  the  same  story  of  him  too  !  We  must  look  for 
them,  then." 

With  these  words  they  proceeded,  with  those  under  their 
command,  to  pull  to  pieces  a  stack  of  hay  and  another  of 
corn  that  stood  in  Rory's  haggart,  much  to  the  dismay  of 
the  poor  widow.  In  vain  she  protested,  in  vain  she  be- 
sought ;  they  were  bent  on  the  work  they  had  set  about. 

"  Sure,  if  you  think  they're  hid,  gentlemen,  search  the 
house  first,  at  laste,  before  you  go  pull  my  little  bit  of  hay 
and  whate  to  pieces  !  " 

"  Oh,  we  know  better  than  that !  They  wouldn't  hide 
in  the  house  ;  but  they  may  be  here." 

"  Well,  sure,  if  they  be,  you  can  prod  the  stacks  with 
your  swoords  ;  but  for  God's  sake,  don't  pull  the  stacks  to 
pieces,  and  it  rainin'.  Sure,  you  won't  lave  them  worth  a 
thraneen  !  and  would/it  ruin  the  little  thrifle  of  substance 
the  poor  widow  has  left !  " 

The  appeal  was  unheeded  ;  they  searched  not  within  the 
house,  nor  did  they  satisfy  themselves  by  prodding  the 
stacks  with  their  blades  (which  was  a  common  practice  in 
those  times)  but  they  pulled  down  the  scanty  savings  of 
her  little  farming,  under  the  pretence  of  finding  those  they 
were  in  search  of  ;  and  in  doing  this,  they  were  not  guilty 
of  an  extraordinary  atrocity,  for  in  those  times  it  was  the 
common  practice  to  destroy  as  much  of  the  property  of 
suspected  people  as  the  slightest  pretext  would  admit. 
But  these  merciless  fellows  did  not  only  bereave  the  lone 
woman  of  the  accumulated  produce  of  her  little  farm,  but 
bragged  of  their  humanity  in  not  burning  her  haggart  be- 
fore her  eyes. 

"  God  help  me  ! "  said  the  distracted  woman,  wringing 
her  hands.  "  Sure,  it's  all  one  whether  you  desthroy  me 
by  fire  or  wather.  You've  pulled  my  little  hay  and  corn 
about  the  place  in  the  middle  of  the  rain  ;  and  what  good  is 
it  afther  that  ?  Oh,  how  will  I  ever  pay  my  bit  of  rint !  Oh, 
wirra!  wirra !     Burn  it  indeed!"  said  she,  as  her  wrongs 


RORY  O'MORE. 


243 


gave  her  courage  to  speak  more  openly  ;  "  throth,  you're 
welcome  to  burn  it,  if  you're  able,  afther  the  wettin'  it  has 
got  now." 

In  the  Dublin  Castle  journals  of  the  day,  this  circum- 
stance was  set  forth  at  great  length,  with  a  flourishing  en- 
comium on  the  Christian  forbearance  of  tlie  " Horse 

in  having  merely  searched  the  haggart  of  the  person  who 
had  murdered  (as  it  is  believed)  Jonathan  Scrubbs,  Esq.,  of 

Lodge,  in  the  county  of ,  without  having  burned 

to  the  ground  (as  they  ought  to  have  done)  every  stick  and 
stone  belonging  to  the  papist  ruffian." 

The  widow,  as  yet,  had  not  heard  of  the  disappearance 
of  the  collector,  nor  of  his  having  been  last  seen  in  com- 
pany with  Rory  ;  therefore  she  was  unconscious  of  any 
cause  of  uneasiness  on  the  score  of  her  son,  and  had  noth- 
ing to  lament  over  but  her  ruined  haggart.  Another  day, 
however,  had  not  passed  without  her  hearing  of  the  occur- 
rence, with  all  the  varieties  of  account  that  rumor  with 
her  hundred  tongues  sends  far  and  wide  on  such  occasions. 

The  Black  Bull  was  the  centre  whence  these  reports 
radiated  ;  for,  from  the  moment  of  Sweeny's  visit  there, 
and  recognition  of  Scrubbs'  horse,  curiosity  was  at  work  to 
know  "what  in  the  world  could  have  become  of  the  col- 
lector ;"  and  when  Rory  O'More  could  not  be  heard  of, 
the  anxiety  to  unravel  the  mystery  increased.  In  this 
state  of  things  it  was  that  the  crow-bar  which  Rory  O'More 
had  taken  with  him  from  the  public-house  was  found  in  the 
glen  of  the  Folly  ;  this  led  to  further  investigation  ;  recent 
footmarks  near  the  ruin,  bearing  the  appearance  of  a  strug- 
gle, were  observed.  The  bars  wrenched  from  the  grated 
window,  and  the  evidences  of  the  recent  habitation  of  the 
vault,  gave  rise  to  many  conjectures  ;  and  a  grand  field  of 
mystery,  with  a  noble-standing  crop  upon  it,  was  thus 
opened  to  the  whole  community,  who  began  to  reap  away 
at  it  with  might  and  main,  and  a  very  noble  harvest  of 
wonder  was  soon  gathered  ;  nor  were  there  wanting  glean- 
ers to  follow  up  the  work  and  bring  in  the  last  precious 
grains  of  the  incomprehensible. 

The  widow  heeded  not  the  various  forms  which  the  story 
assumed,  for  every  subordinate  interest  was  lost  in  the  one 
all-absorbing  consideration  to  her,  that  her  son  was  miss- 
ing ;  and  in  this  feeling  Mary  participated.  In  a  few  days, 
however,  an  additional  pang  was  added  to  her  grief  ;  for 
the  Scrubbs  party  had  no  hesitation  in  saying  the  collector 
had  been  murdered,  and  that  Kory  O'More  was  guilty  of 


^4  RORY  O^MORE. 

'  the  crime.  When  i/ie  poor  womun  became  possessed  ol 
this  report,  lier  agony  of  mind  was  excessive — an  agony 
relieved  only  by  occasional  indignation  that  her  boy  should 
be  so  maligned  ;  but  this  temporary  relief  being  of  an  ex. 
citing,  instead  of  a  soothing  character,  her  mind  was  kept 
in  a  state  of  tumult  almost  bordering  on  distraction. 

"  Oh,  that  I  ever  should  see  the  day,"  she  would  exclaim, 
"  my  darlin'  boy  should  be  accused  of  murdher  !  Oh,  that 
my  gray  hairs  should  suffer  the  disgrace  !  Oh,  Rory, 
Rory  !  where  are  you  ? — where  are  you  ?  Why  don't  you 
come  and  give  them  the  lie  ? — for  you  never  done  it — 
never,  never,  never!  You  murdher?  You,  that  wouldn't 
hurt  a  fly  !  Oh,  my  boy  !  my  boy  ! " 

"  Mother,  dear  !  "  exclaimed  Mary,  weeping  as  she  spoke, 
"  don't  take  on  so — don't,  mother  dear,  or  you'll  break  my 
heart  !  " 

"  Oh,  Mary,  Mary,  isn't  it  bad  enough  we've  lost  our 
darlin',  our  pride  and  our  prop — isn't  it  bad  enough  he's 
gone  forever  from  us,  without  his  name  bein'  blackened  to 
the  world  ?  Sure,  when  my  darlin'  was  taken  from  me> 
the  laste  they  might  have  left  me  was  the  bright  remem- 
brance of  him  without  stain  or  blame  !  Oh,  the  hard^ 
hearted  crew  ! — to  rob  the  lone  widow  of  a  mother's  pride  ,■; 
and  when  the  grave  had  swallowed  her  darlin',  to  put  dis- 
grace over  him  for  his  tombstone  ?  She  wrung  her  hands 
and  kept  rocking  in  her  seat,  while  Mary  in  vain  attempted 
to  soothe  her. 

"  Don't  be  talkin'  of  his  grave,  mother  dear  ;  sure,  we 
don't  know  but " 

Here  the  mother  interrupted  her  with  a  wild  burst  of 
thought  caught  up  from  the  passing  word  : 

"  Thrue,  thrue  ! — we  don't  know  where  he  lies.  Oh,  if  I 
did,  I'd  go  there  and  throw  myself  on  my  Rory's  grave, 
and  break  my  heart,  and  make  my  last  bed  there  with  him  ! 
But  my  heart  is  broke — broke — broke  !  and  the  sooner 
the  grave  closes  over  me  the  betther  I  " 

"Oh  !  don't  talk  that  way,  mother — for  God's  sake  don't, 
Sure  you  wouldn't  lave  your  poor  Mary  alone  ?  " 

"No,  alamia! — no,  if  I  could  help  it — but  how  can  I  live 
afther  him  !  And  you — you  won't  live  afther  him,  eithef 
— for  you  loved  him  like  your  life  ;  and  soon  we'll  follow 
him,  and  lave  the  cowld  world,  for  it  is  cowld  and  blake  to 
us  now  without  him.  And  the  disgrace — the  disgrace! 
He  a  murd-herer  !— but  who'll  believe  it  ?  Will  thim  that 
knew  him  believe  it?     Never,  never!" 


RORY  O'MORB.  .    245 

"  No,  mother  dear — no,  they  won't !  " 

"  You  don't  think  they  will,  Mary  ?  God  bless  you,  child, 
for  the  word  !  No — who  could  believe  it  of  him,  that  had 
the  kindest  heart  and  the  proudest  spirit  ? — he  disgrace  his 
name — he  lave  reproach  for  his  sister's  portion,  and  de- 
spair for  his  mother's  closing  days ! — no,  they  can't  believe 
it." 

"No,  mother  dear,  they  can't  !  " 

"  Thim  that  could  scatther  the  widow's  substance  to  the 
winds  may  say  it — but  they  won't  be  believed  ;  and  the  fair 
name  of  my  dead  boy  will  be  sthronger  than  the  lies  of 
the  living." 

In  this  belief  the  forlorn  woman  was  right ;  and  when 
she  found  the  peasantry  gave  no  credit  to  the  rumor,  and 
that,  however  they  were  unable  to  account  for  Rory's  dis- 
appearance and  the  suspicious  circumstances  attending  it, 
they  entertained  no  doubt  of  his  innocence,  the  widow  be- 
came more  reconciled,  and  bore  her  loss  with  greater  for- 
titude. The  universal  sympathy  also  which  she  found  in 
her  neighbors  tended  to  support  her  ;  and  when  she  heard 
the  accusation  against  Rory  repelled  as  indignantly  in  his 
own  class  as  by  herself,  she  was  much  soothed,  as  the  ex- 
emption of  her  son's  name  from  disgrace  relieved  her  from 
more  than  half  the  weight  of  her  affliction. 

Foremost  in  the  tender  offices  of  condolence  was  Kath- 
leen Regan — if  that  might  be  called  condolence,  which  was 
rather  a  communion  of  affliction.  The  meeting  of  the  two 
girls  in  the  Widow  O'More's  cottage  was  very  touching. 
Without  their  having  ever  spoken  on  the  subject,  the  love 
of  Rory  and  Kathleen  was  perfectly  well  understood  be- 
tween them  ;  and  when  Kathleen  crossed  the  threshold  of 
her  lost  lover's  cottage,  she  could  not  speak  a  word — but 
both  girls  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in  silent 
agony,  and  rushing  with  open  arms  into  an  embrace  of 
sorrowing  endearment,  they  wept  upon  each  other's  neck. 

The  girls  had  always  liked  each  other,  but  now  a  fresh 
motive  of  attachment  existed  between  them.  Kathleen 
saw  in  the  sister  whom  Rory  loved  so  well  an  object  to  be 
additionally  fond  of  for  his  sake  ;  and  Mary,  in  looking  on 
the  girl  to  whom  her  brother  had  given  his  heart,  was 
similarly  influenced  ;  and  thus  their  friendship  at  once  be- 
came increased  to  affection,  and  a  portion  of  the  love  that 
each  had  borne  to  Rory  they  transferred  upon  each  other 
Tliey  often  met,  and  for  hours  together  would  talk  over 
their  bereavement,  and,  after  some  time,  were  forced  to 


246  RORY  O-'MORE. 

admit  the  long-combated  belief  to  their  hearts,  that  Rory 
was  dead  ;  for  as  Conolly's  evidence  was  conclusive  that 
he  did  not  accompany  De  Lacy  they  knew  of  no  cause 
short  of  death  for  his  absence. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  conversations  Mary  O'More  told 
Kathleen  that  after  all  which  they  heard  about  the  glen  of 
the  Folly,  and  the  many  times  it  had  been  examined,  she 
would  wish  very  much  to  visit  the  place  herself,  and  search 
it  carefully  up  and  down — but  it  being  so  solitary,  she  did 
not  like  going  alone,  and  asked  Kathleen  to  bear  her  com- 
pany, A  ready  assent  was  given  to  the  proposal,  and  the 
girls  spent  a  whole  day  in  making  a  careful  survey  of  the 
valley — from  the  Folly  up  to  the  wild  and  rocky  gorge 
where  the  glen  was  shut  in  by  a  bluff  barrier  of  cliff  down 
which  the  stream  tumbled. 

Though  making  no  observation  tending  to  clear  up  the 
mystery,  their  visits  were  often  repeated  ;  and  notwith- 
standing their  continued  ill-success  in  every  endeavor  to 
elucidate  the  fatal  cause  which  had  bereft  them  of  Rory, 
yet  there,was  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  being  on  the  spot 
he  was  last  traced  to.  The  frequency  of  their  walks  in 
the  glen  had  so  accustomed  them  to  the  place,  that  habit 
had  overcome  their  fear  of  its  loneliness,  and  sometimes 
each  girl  went  there  alone. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions  when  Mary  O'More 
had  wandered  nearly  to  the  end  of  the  glen,  that  she  was 
startled  by  hearing  the  sound  of  a  coarse  voice  which 
made  her  blood  run  cold.  She  paused  and  listened,  and 
in  the  lapse  of  a  few  moments,  became  conscious  she  heard 
the  voice  of  Shan  Regan,  and  with  a  hasty  and  cautious 
step  the  terrified  girl  ran  higher  up  the  glen  ;  and,  doub- 
ling swiftly  round  a  projecting  rock,  she  struck  into  a 
small  hazel  wood  that  promised  shelter,  and  crouching  un- 
der the  bushes  and  rank  grass,  sought  concealment  from 
the  man  whose  presence  she  loathed  and  dreaded.  The 
sound  of  footsteps  approached  ;  she  could  scarcely  breathe; 
they  came  nearer  ;  she  trembled  so  violently  as  scarcely 
to  prevent  the  bush  which  sheltered  her  from  rustling 
with  her  tremor— and  in  another  instant  Regan  was  visi- 
ble a  few  paces  below  her,  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  rock 
round  whose  angle  she  had  just  passed. 


RORY   O'MORE.  247 


VOLUME    THE    THIRD. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


Showing  how  like  a  Gentleman  a  Tinker  is  when  he  Thinks  he  is  Dying. 

"Wlien  the  devil  was  sick,  the  devil  a  monk  would  be, 
When  the  devil  was  well,  the  devil  a  monk  was  he." 

To  account  for  the  presence  of  Regan  in  the  glen  of  the 
Folly  at  this  time,  it  becomes  necessary  to  revert  to  the 
night  the  smugglers  carried  off  the  collector. 

When  the  kidnappers  and  their  prisoners  made  their 
first  halt  at  the  lonely  hut  where  the  car  was  procured,  the 
old  tinker  determined  to  remain  there  for  the  night,  as  he 
felt  unable  to  proceed,  being  attacked  with  fits  of  shiver- 
ing, probably  occasioned  by  his  remaining  standing  so 
long  nearly  up  to  the  knees  in  water  during  the  imprison- 
ment of  the  smugglers  in  the  vault.  Copious  draughts  of 
hot  punch  failed  to  relieve  him  ;  and  as  this  wretched 
hovel  was  unprovided  with  a  bed,  a  bundle  of  straw  was 
all  the  tinker  had  to  lie  upon  ;  and  this  was  a  share 
granted  to  him  by  Morty  Mooney  from  his  own  wisp, 
which  served  himself  for  a  bed  whenever  he  used  the  hut 
as  his  resting-place — the  hovel  not  being  meant  for  a  reg- 
ular domicile,  but  serving  the  disorderly  set  with  whom 
Morty  was  leagued,  as  a  place  of  rendezvous  or  halt,  as 
occasion  required  ;  for  from  its  lonely  situation  it  was 
admirably  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  those  with  whom  se- 
crecy was  often  an  object  of  importance. 

During  the  night  Solomon's  moans  sometimes  disturbed 
the  sleep  of  Morty  Mooney,  who,  as  morning  approached, 
was  besought  by  the  tinker  to  get  "  a  spark  o'  fire  "  and 
make  some  more  hot  punch,  for  in  the  course  of  the  night 
the  fire  had  become  extinguished.  The  request  was  com- 
plied with,  but  Solomon's  pains  remained  unalleviated  ;  he 
continued  his  morning's  protestations  that  he  was  "racked 
intirely,"  and  at  length  expressed  the  fear  that  he  was  dy- 
ing.    As  this  belief  became  strengthened,  the  old  reprobate 


248  RORY   O'MORE. 

exliibited  considerable  apprehension  of  the  final  hour,  and 
showed  his  dread  of  approaching  judgment  by  many  pious 
ejaculations  that  long  had  been  strangers  to  his  withered 
lips.  At  last  he  said  he  should  like  to  see  the  priest,  and 
urged  Morty  to  go  for  him.  But  Morty  said  he  could  not 
do  his  errand  until  the  return  of  Shan  Regan,  who  had  ac- 
companied the  party  overnight,  and  promised  to  be  back 
early  on  the  following  morning  ;  but  that  as  soon  as  he  ar- 
rived the  priest  should  be  sent  for. 

"  Oh,  don't  lose  any  time,  Morty — I'm  very  bad !  Oh, 
if  I  should  die  without  seein'  the  priest !  " 

"  You're  not  so  bad  as  all  that  comes  to  yet,"  said  Morty. 

"  Oh,  I'm  racked  inside,  and  I  feel  myself  growin'  wake  !" 

"  Here's  more  hot  dhrink  for  you." 

"  It's  no  use." 

"  It's  brave  and  strong,  and  as  hot  as  the  divil." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  divil — God  be  merciful  to  me  ! — don't 
say  divil,  Morty — don't!  Oh!  oh  !  I'm  racked!  Gi' me 
the  drink  then — is  it  hot  ? — is  it  hot  ?  " 

"Yis,  brave  and  hot  ;"  and  he  handed  him  the  steaming 
punch  in  a  jug,  which  trembled  in  the  old  tinker's  hands 
and  rattled  against  his  teeth  as  he  drank. 

"  It's  no  use,"  said  Solomon  ;  "  it  warms  me  heart  no 
more  than  if  it  was  cowld  wather.  I'm  cowld — I'm  cowld! 
Oh,  the  rackin'  pain  !  For  the  love  o'  God  go  for  the 
priest,  and  don't  let  me  die  this  way  !  " 

"The  minit  Regan  comes." 

"  Oh,  he  can  wait,  but  my  poor  sowl  can't  wait !  You 
wouldn't  stand  between  me  and  the  light  o'  glory,  would 
you  ?  Oh,  go,  Morty,  go  ! — you'll  be  dyin'  one  day  your- 
self." 

"  Well,  whenever  that  may  be,  I  won't  be  sich  a  coward 
about  it,  anyhow." 

"  You  don't  know  that — you  don't  know  that.  While 
the  life  is  sthrong  the  courage  is  sthrong,  but  the  heart 
fails  you  when  you  feel  the  life  gettin'  low." 

"  Tut!  don't  be  so  afeard  ;  a  man  ought  always  to  be  a 
man." 

"Oh,  you  dunna  what  it  is  to  be  hangin'  over  the  pit, 
and  the  thread  o'  life  goin'  to  brake  !  I  thought  like  you 
wanst,  but  now  it's  dhreadful  to  be  near  it !  Oh,  don't  let 
me  die  out  o'  salvation  !  go  for  the  priest  if  you  hope  to 
see  glory." 

Morty  went  outside  the  cottage  to  avoid  Solomon's  im- 
portunity ;  for  he  did  not  like  complying  with  his  request 


kORY  0\MORE.  249 

without  seeing  Regan,  as,  under  existing  circumstances, 
he  dreaded  tliat  tlie  tinlcer  sliould  make  some  discoveries 
in  the  course  of  his  confession  with  his  ghostly  visitor 
whicii  might  prove  inconvenient  to  liis  confederates.  He 
walked,  therefore,  toward  the  point  whence  he  expected 
Regan  to  approach,  and  was  not  long  without  meeting  him. 
He  communicated  to  him  Solomon's  precarious  state,  and 
his  desire  to  see  the  priest,  and  pointed  out  his  apprehen- 
sions of  the  dangerous  consequences  that  might  arise  from 
complying  with  his  request.  They  consulted  together  on 
the  course  to  be  pursued  in  this  matter,  as  they  walked 
slowly  back  to  the  hut  where  the  tinker  still  lay  groaning 
and  calling  unavailingly  on  Morty  to  hasten  for  the  con- 
fessor. 

"  It  would  be  well  he  was  dead,  the  owld  thief  ! "  said 
Morty  ;  "  for  he'd  be  no  loss  to  anyone." 

"  That's  thrue  indeed,  and  by  what  you  tell  me  it's  like 
he's  not  long  for  this  world  ;  don't  you  say  he  is  dyin'  ?" 

"He  thinks  so  himself,"  said  Morty;  "but  that's  the 
cowardly  heart  of  him  ;  for  he's  as  tough  as  a  gad,  and  I 
don't  think  he'll  go  without  a  hard  sthruggle.  Suppose 
we  lave  him  there  and  let  him  die  ?  " 

"  How  would  it  be  wid  us  thin  ?  "  said  Regan,  who  did 
not  in  the  smallest  degree  revolt  at  the  cruelty  of  the  sug- 
gestion, but  had  an  eye  to  the  consequences. 

"  Sure,  we  wouldn't  have  a  hand  in  puttin'  any  harm  on 
him,  and  who  could  say  a  word  to  us  ?  " 

"That's  thrue,  sure  enough,"  said  Regan,  who  walked  a 
few  paces  in  silence  while  he  revolved  in  his  own  mind 
the  proposition. 

"If  he  was  found  dead  there,  it  might  lead  to  inquiry." 

"  When  he's  dead,  can't  we  throw  him  into  a  bog-hole  ? " 
said  Morty  ;  "  who  cares  enough  for  him  to  ax  any  ques- 
tions?" 

"  Do  you  know  where  the  ass  is  ?"  said  Regan,  still  con- 
sidering. 

"No,"  said  Morty. 

"  You  see  that !  "  said  Regan  ;  "  the  cunnin'  rascal  always 
left  the  ass  somewhere  else,  whenever  he  kem  to  the  Folly, 
that  it  might  be  to  the  fore  to  rise  a  question  if  anything 
happened  him  and  he  didn't  go  back  to  claim  him.  Do 
you  mind  ?  " 

"  Bad  luck  to  his  cuteness  !     What  a  head  he  has  !  " 

"  He's  the  biggest  owld  rogue  in  Ireland  !  "  said  Regan. 

"  Well,  wliat  are  we  to  do  ?  "  said  Morty. 


250 


RORY   O'MORE. 


"  We'll  see  how  he  is,  first,"  said  Regan,  as  they  ap« 
proached  the  lonely  hut.  On  getting  near  the  door  they 
paused  for  a  moment,  and  heard  the  groans  of  Solomon, 
mingled  with  ejaculations  which  were  uttered  aloud. 

"Oh,  Morty  Mooney,  are  you  gone  for  the  priest? — 
bring  him  to  save  my  poor  sowl !  Oh,  if  you  desaive  me, 
may  a  dead  man's  curse  be  an  you,  and  may  you  never  see 
the  light  o'  glory  at  your  own  dyin'  hour  !  " 

"  That's  a  bitther  curse  he's  puttin'  an  you,  Morty — 
aren't  you  afeard  ? "  said  Regan,  whose  superstitious  nat- 
ure was  worked  upon. 

"  Betther  for  him  pray  for  himself  than  curse  me,"  said 
Morty, 

"Well,  it's  betther  see  him  agin,  anyhow,"  said  Regan, 
who  entered  the  hut,  followed  by  Morty. 

When  Solomon  heard  the  approaching  footsteps,  he 
turned  on  his  straw,  and  cried  in  a  voice  of  anxious  ear- 
nestness, "  Is  that  his  reverence  ?  " 

"  Are  you  betther  now  ? "  was  the  answer  he  got  from. 
Regan. 

"  Oh,  didn't  you  bring  the  priest  ?  " 

"  By  an'  by,  man — by  an'  by." 

The  old  tinker  groaned  in  mental  and  bodily  anguish : 
"  Oh,  if  I  die  out  o'  salvation  !  " 

"  Listen  to  me,  man,"  said  Regan. 

A  conversation  took  place  between  them,  in  which  Solo- 
mon worked  upon  the  superstitious  feelings  which  he  knew 
Regan  to  be  under  the  control  of,  and  threatened  him  with 
the  appearance  of  his  unlaid  ghost  after  death  if  he  per- 
mitted him  to  die  without  seeing  the  priest.  Regan,  in 
turn,  made  Solomon  swear  by  "  the  holy  vestments  and 
the  seven  blessed  candles,"  that  he  would  not  in  his  con- 
fession to  the  clergyman  commit  his  companions. 

This,  in  his  urgency  for  haste,  Solomon  promised,  and 
offered,  in  proof  of  his  sincerity,  that  Regan  might  be  pres- 
ent while  he  received  absolution  from  the  confessor.  This 
point  being  carried,  the  pastor  was  sent  for,  and  Morty 
Mooney  was  urged  to  use  all  speed. 

"And  suppose  I  go  for  the  docthor  ? "  said  Regan. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Solomon,  "  it's  no  use — and  don't  lave  me 
to  die  alone,  for  God's  sake  !  Stay  wid  me — let  me  howld 
you — there,  there  !  sure  it's  comfortin'  to  have  a  grip  o' 
somethin'  in  this  life  while  you're  in  it  ;  not  to  be  left 
alone  in  the  last  minit,  to  quit  the  world  like  a  banished 
sthranger." 


RORY  O'MORE.  251 

Solomon  continued  in  great  pain  and  was  apparently 
sinking,  and  his  anxiety  for  ghostly  consolation  continued 
to  increase  in  a  fearful  degree.  Nevertheless,  Regan,  hav- 
ing acquitted  his  conscience  in  sending  for  the  priest,  was 
in  hopes  the  tinker  would  die  before  his  arrival,  and  so 
put  the  secrets  Solomon  was  in  possession  of  out  of  danger. 
This  inhuman  desire,  however,  was  not  gratified  ;  the  ap- 
proaching tramp  of  a  horse  was  heard,  and  Regan,  on  go- 
ing to  the  door,  saw  Father  Frank  riding  toward  the  luit 
at  a  smart  pace.  Regan  returned  to  the  straw  litter  where 
Solomon  lay,  and  said  : 

"  Now,  remember  your  oath — don't  bethray  us  ;  for  if 
you  do,  hell  fire  will  be  your  portion  ! " 

"  Lord  be  merciful  to  me  !  "  said  the  dying  man. 

Regan  now  returned  to  the  door  to  receive  the  priest, 
and  with  the  disgusting  words  he  uttered  to  the  dying  ^' 
sinner  yet  hot  on  his  lips,  he  said,  •'  God  save  your  rever- 
ence ! "  as  he  made  a  low  obeisance  to  the  priest,  who 
alighted  and  entered  the  hovel,  while  Regan  secured  the 
bridle  of  the  horse  to  the  staple  on  the  door-post  and  fol- 
lowed fast  into  the  hut. 

"  Well,  my  poor  man,  are  you  very  ill  ?  "  said  Father 
Frank. 

"  Oh,  God  be  praised,  you're  come  !  "  said  Solomon. 
"  I'm  dyin',  your  reverence — dyin  ! — give  me  the  comforts 
o'  the  Church,  and  God  bless  you  !  Oh,  I'm  a  poor  sin- 
ner !  give  me  absolution  for  my  sins,  and  save  my  poor 
sowl  !  " 

"  Leave  me  alone  with  him,"  said  the  clergyman  to  Re- 
gan ;  "he  wants  to  confess." 

"  Plaze,  your  reverence,  he  has  nothin'  to  confess  ;  he 
says  he  only  wants  the  comforts  o'  the  Church  before  he 
departs." 

"  Retire,"  said  the  pastor.  "  You  ought  to  know  he  can- 
not receive  the  sacrament  without  making  a  confession." 

Solomon  declared  he  had  nothing  to  confess.  "  I  have 
no  time  for  confession,  more  than  that  I'm  a  wicked  sin- 
ner, and  repent  o'  my  sins,  and  hope  to  see  glory,  if  your 
reverence  will  give  me  absolution." 

"  God  help  you,  poor  man  !  "  said  Father  Frank,  hu- 
manely ;  "  you  shall  have  the  consolations  of  the  Church 
in  your  last  moments  ;  but  you  should  make  a  clean 
breast,  and  unburden  your  conscience  ;  you  have  sins  to 
confess." 

"More  than  1  have  time  for,"  said  Solomon,  faintly; 


252  RORY   O'MORE. 

"  I'm  dyin'.  I  confess  I'm  a  miserable  sinner,  and  I  ax 
God's  pardon,  and  my  blessed  Sav'or's  pardon  ;  and  won't 
you  give  me  absolution,  your  reverence,  and  promise  me 
the  light  o'  glory  !  Oh,  take  pity  on  my  poor  sowl,  and 
give  me  the  absolution  !  and  I  have  money,  money  enough, 
your  reverence." 

"  Don't  think  of  your  money,  you  poor,  sinful  mortal  ! 
but  think  of  saving  your  soul,  and  confess  yourself  before 
God,  who  knows  your  crimes,  and  is  willing  to  pardon 
them  if  vou  confess  them." 

"  Oh,  I  lave  all  that  to  his  own  honor,  your  reverence,  if 
you'll  only  gi'  me  the  absolution,  and  say  masses  for  my 
poor  sowl  when  I'm  gone — and  I've  money  to  pay  for  thim 
— plenty  o'  money — will  ye  say  the  masses  for  me  ?" 

"  Let  me  confess  you  first." 

"  Sure,  I've  nothin'  to  confess,  more  nor  I  confessed 
already — I'm  a  poor  sinner,  and  ax  absolution  ;  and  if  your 
reverence  goes  to  the  glin  o'  the  Folly,  and  there  at  the 
upper  end  there's  a  big  rock  stands  out  in  the  glin,  and 
some  hazel-trees  near  it  higher  up  the  hill."  Here  he 
writhed  in  agony,  and  gave  his  accustomed  cry  that  he  was 
racked.  He  seemed  weaker  after  the  spasm,  and  in  a 
voice  more  faint  than  hitherto  besought  the  priest  for  ab- 
solution, with  a  look  so  imploring,  that  Father  Frank  could 
no  longer  resist  the  appeal,  and  fearing  he  would  expire 
every  instant,  the  extremity  of  the  case  induced  him  to  dis- 
pense wuth  a  confession,  and  he  administered  the  last  rites 
of  the  Church. 

The  poor  wretch  seemed  much  soothed  by  the  act,  and 
after  a  short  pause  continued  : 

"  Undher  that  rock,  near  a  big  bunch  o'  dock-leaves,  if 
you  dig  up  the  ground,  you'll  find  a  leather  bag  with  goold- 
en   guineas    in    it — more — more — than   you'd    think — the 

poor  tinker "     Here  he  paused  again  in  apparent  pain  ; 

but  recovering  again,  he  said,  faintly  : 

"  The  goold — your  reverence — I  give  the  goold  to  you — 
for  the  masses — for  the  masses — for  my  sowl.  Oh,  say  the 
masses  ! — the  masses  !  "  He  could  add  no  more,  and  sank 
back  on  his  heap  of  straw. 

"  God  be  merciful  to  his  soul !  "  said  the  priest,  devoutly, 
as  he  joined  his  hands  in  prayer  over  the  poor  sinner, 
whose  spirit  he  thought  had  passed.  But  Solomon  had 
not  yet  given  up  the  ghost ;  he  still  continued  to  breathe, 
but  his  state  of  exhaustion  seemed  to  be  such  that  no  hope 
could  be  entertained  of  his  recovery,  and  as  there  was 


RORY  O'MORE.  253 

no  apparent  likelihood  even  of  returning  consciousness, 
Father  Frank  prepared  to  go. 

"This  should  be  an  awful  warning  to  you,"  said  he  to 
Regan,  who  attended  liim  to  his  horse.  "  See  how  the 
death-bed  of  the  sinner  shakes  the  heart !  I  hope  you 
may  profit  by  the  lesson.  After  the  poor  man's  decease 
you  must  accompany  me  to  the  place  where  he  said  his 
money  is  concealed,  to  witness  how  much  is  there,  and  I 
will  divide  it  between  masses  for  his  soul  and  offices  of 
charity." 

When  the  priest  had  gone,  Regan  returned  to  the  hut 
and  found  Solomon  had  sunk  into  a  sleep. 

"  I  suppose  he'll  go  off  that  way,"  said  he  to  himself. 

"And  to  think  o'  the  owld  vagabone  having  such  a 
power  o'  money,  all  by  chatin'  and  robbin' — the  way  h€> 
robbed  the  stakes  o'  the  game  yesterday  in  the  Folly  ! " 

To  every  one's  surprise,  Solomon,  instead  of  dying, 
awoke  the  better  of  his  sleep — much  exhausted,  it  is  true, 
but  manifestly  out  of  danger.  While  in  this  state  he  wa& 
often  visited  by  Father  Frank,  who  endeavored  to  impressi 
upon  him  how  sacred  the  duty  became  to  thank  God  for 
his  mercy  in  granting  the  time  for  repentance  of  his  sins, 
and  not  hastening  him  away  in  the  unprepared  state  in 
which  the  pastor  found  him,  when,  trembling  at  the  terrors 
of  death,  he  prayed  for  absolution,  which,  under  the  ex- 
treme circumstances  of  the  case,  had  been  given  him  then  , 
"  but  now,"  added  Father  Frank,  "  I  expect  you  to  lead  a 
good  life  for  the  remainder  of  the  period  Heaven  may 
please  to  grant  you,  and  I  desire  you  to  come  to  your  duty 
regularly." 

Solomon  promised  fairly  ;  but  the  moment  the  priest's 
back  was  turned,  his  thoughts  vrere  far  from  heavenward. 
To  the  earth  they  returned  again  ;  for  he  thought  of  his 
concealed  treasure,  and  trembled  for  its  safety,  as  he  re- 
membered that  Regan  was  present  when  he  named  the 
spot  where  it  was  buried. 

For  some  days  he  could  not  rise  from  the  litter  where  he 
lay  ;  and  when  he  was  enabled  to  move,  it  was  but  to 
crawl  feebly  along.  But  even  in  this  exhausted  state  he 
made  his  way  to  the  glen  of  the  Folly,  to  try  if  his  hoard 
was  safe.  The  appearance  of  the  spot  alarmed  him,  for 
the  place  bore  marks  of  being  disturbed,  and  he  began 
eagerly  to  upturn  the  soil.  Wretched  was  the  work  of 
the  old  miser;  digging  up  the  earth  that  so  soon  must 
cover  him,  to  seek  that  which  was  dearer  to  him  than  life. 


254  J^OEY   O'MORE. 

What  was  his  agony  when  he  found  his  misgivings  at  sight 
of  the  place  well  founded,  and  that  his  gold  was  gone  ! 

At  first  he  stood  as  stiff  and  cold  as  stone  ;  and  had  he 
been  of  a  nature  sensible  to  emotion,  the  shock  would  have 
killed  him.  At  length  he  gave  way  to  groans  and  wrung 
his  hands  in  despair — he  threw  himself  on  the  ground  ;  and 
tears,  that  had  never  since  childhood  wetted  his  cheek,  now 
streamed  down  the  furrows  that  crime  and  craft  had  worn 
there.  He  cursed  his  fate  in  having  been  spared  from  the 
grave  only  to  taste  a  bitterness  beyond  that  of  death,  and 
his  wailing  was  mingled  with  blaspheming. 

The  sweet  echoes  of  the  quiet  glen  were  startled  at  the 
disgusting  sounds,  and  the  pure  peace  of  nature  violated  ! 

But  the  master-spirit  of  the  miser  at  length  came  to  his 
aid — craft  rose,  phoenix-like,  from  the  ashes  of  his  heart, 
Where  a  few  minutes  before  he  had  wept  in  despair,  and 
wrung  his  hands,  he  now  sat  motionless,  with  knitted  brow 
and  compressed  lips,  planning  within  the  dark  and  tortu- 
ous labyrinths  of  his  deceitful  mind  stratagem  after  strata- 
gem to  regain  his  lost  treasure.  With  the  patience  and 
cunning  of  a  spider,  thread  after  thread  he  spun  ;  and  if 
the  breath  of  doubt  shook  his  fabric  and  broke  his  meshes, 
on  he  toiled  unwearied,  until  the  web  was  completed  ;  and 
now  he  only  wanted  to  lure  his  game  within  his  grasp. 

Having  determined  on  his  plan,  he  replaced  the  earth 
he  had  dug  up  ;  and  so  carefully  did  he  restore  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  spot  as  it  existed  before  his  visit,  that  no 
one  would  have  suspected  it  had  been  so  recently  dis- 
turbed. 

He  then  left  the  place  muttering  curses  upon  Regan — 
for  that  he  was  the  person  who  purloined  the  treasure 
there  was  no  doubt,  and  the  plan  he  adopted  to  make  him 
restore  it  was  this  :  He  contrived  an  opportunity  of  speak- 
ing to  Regan  without  exciting  his  suspicions  ;  and  after 
alluding  to  the  circumstances  of  his  sickness,  and  of  the 
hidden  money  which  he  had  told  the  priest  of — "  as  you 
heerd  me  tell  him  yourself,"  said  he — Solomon  then  pro- 
ceeded to  inform  him  that  he  had  hid  another  hoard  of 
money  in  another  place,  but  that  he  did  not  think  it  was 
as  safe  as  it  would  be  in  the  glen  of  the  Folly  ;  "and  as 
the  priest  and  you  knows  that  place,"  said  Solomon,  "and 
as  I  can't  live  much  longer  now,  I  would  wish  it  to  be 
known  where  my  money  is — for  it's  a  pity  it  would  be  lost  ; 
and  when  I'm  gone,  sure  I'd  wish  to  lave  somethin'  to 
my  friends  to  remimber  me.  and  some  to  say  masses  for  my 


RORY   O'MORE.  255 

sowl  ;  for  to  give  it  all  to  the  priest,  you  see,  Shan,  is  more 
nor  I  think  right  nor  raysonable.  But,  as  I  was  sayin',  it's 
betther  have  it  all  in  one  place  ;  and  so,  if  you'll  go  wid 
me  to  the  glin,  I'll  put  the  rest  o'  what  I  have  there  too." 
Here  he  produced  a  small  leather  bag  in  which  he  had  put 
some  pieces  of  clipped  tin  to  resemble  the  chink  of  coin,  and 
just  shaking  it  to  deceive  the  ears  of  Regan,  as  he  gave 
him  a  glimpse  of  the  purse,  he  replaced  it  in  his  pocket, 
asking  Regan  to  accompany  him  the  next  day  to  the  glen. 
"  For,  you  see,"  said  he,  "  people  sometimes  go  there  now 
to  see  the  Folly,  since  the  night  we  done  the  thrick  there  ; 
and  I'm  wake  and  owld,  and  would  be  afeard  to  go  by 
myself  wid  so  much  money  about  me.  So,  Shan  agra, 
come  wid  me,  and  thin  you'll  know  where  every  rap  poor 
old  Solomon  has  saved  is  hid— jist  yourself  and  the  priest  ; 
and  when  I'm  dyin'  I  won't  forget  you,  Shan — troth  I 
won't." 

Regan  fell  into  the  trap,  for  the  finished  deception  of 
Solomon's  acting  induced  the  belief  that  he  really  had 
more  treasure  to  hide,  and  Shan  Dhu  lost  no  time  in  re- 
storing the  bag  he  had  stolen  to  its  former  place  of  con- 
cealment, intending,  when  the  additional  treasure  was 
placed  there,  to  seize  it  all  and  decamp.  It  was  the  fol- 
lowing day  he  went  with  the  tinker  for  the  purpose  of 
making  the  second  deposit  ;  and  it  was  on  this  mission  he 
was  engaged  when  Mary  O'More  heard  his  voice  in  the 
glen,  and  fled  at  his  approach.  Let  us  now  return  to  her, 
whom  we  left  trembling  in  her  place  of  concealment. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

Which  will  Explain  Itself. 


Mary  O'More  nearly  fainted  from  terror  at  the  sight  of 
Regan,  who  stood  in  silence  near  the  rock  ;  and  the 
thought  of  his  discovering  her  alone  in  such  a  deserted 
place  shot  a  pang  of  agony  through  her  frame. 

Regan  at  last  raised  his  voice,  and  cried,  "Are  you  com- 
in'?" 

The  words  were  delightful  to  Marj-'s  ear,  for  they  im- 
plied he  had  a  companion,  and  the  sense  of  her  desolation 
ivas  lessened. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Regan  again  ;  and   Solomon  soon  was 


256  RORY  O'MORE. 

visible  to  Mary.  It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had 
ever  been  glad  to  see  the  old  tinker. 

"  Let  me  rest  a  bit,"  said  Solomon,  seating  himself  ;  "the 
walkin'  tires  me  ;  I'm  wake  yet." 

"  No  wondher,"  said  Regan.  "  Faith,  I  thought  you 
wor  gone  th'  other  day  !  " 

"  Well,  I  can't  stay  very  long  now,  anyhow  !  I  feel  my- 
self goin'  fast  ;  and  whenever  that'll  be,  you'll  know  where 
to  get  the  goold,  Shan  agra — for  it's  yourself  will  have  the 
most  of  it." 

("All  of  it,"  thought  Shan  in  his  heart.) 

"  And  so,"  continued  Solomon,  who,  with  admirable 
presence  of  mind,  did  not  seem  to  be  in  any  hurry  to  look 
for  his  money,  "  so  you  tell  me  that  the  Frinchman  went 
aboord  himself  ?" 

"Yis." 

"  And  the  collecthor  is  out  o'  the  way  ?  " 

"  Snug,"  said  Regan. 

Mary,  at  the  name  of  the  collector,  was  breathless,  and 
listened  till  the  anxiety  of  hearing  made  the  ears  tingle 
again. 

"  And  Rory  ?  "  said  Solomon. 

"  D n  his  sowl,  hes  out  of  the  way,  too,"  said  Re- 
gan. 

Poor  Mary  gasped  for  breath. 

"  And  not  one  can  make  head  or  tail  of  it  through  the 
counthry,"  said  Solomon. 

"  Faith,  they  may  look  for  him  long  enough  before  they'll 
find  him  !  "  said  Regan. 

"  Well,  we  may  as  well  look  for  what  we  kem  for,  now 
that  I'm  rested,"  said  Solomon.  "There's  the  very  spot 
where  it  is." 

"  Show  it  to  me,  jist,"  said  Regan,  "  and  I'll  turn  up  the 
earth  for  you,  bekaze  you  are  wake  yet,  and  don't  fataigue 
yourself." 

"Thrue  for  you,"  said  Solomon,  who  knew  Regan's  mo- 
tive was  to  prevent  the  recent  removal  of  earth  being  no- 
ticed. 

Shan  Dhu  now  opened  the  blade  of  a  large  clasp-knife, 
and  commenced  the  act  of  unearthing  the  treasure. 

Mary  was  in  a  state  of  confused  horror  all  this  time. 
She  had  heard  them  say  Rory  might  be  looked  for  a  long 
while  before  he  was  found,  and  she  imagined,  from  these 
words,  that  they  had  concealed  his  body  after  he  was  mur- 
dered (for  she  had  given  up  all  hope  of  Rory's  being  alive); 


RORY  O'MORE.  257 

and  perhaps  this  was  the  spot  where  his  mangled  remains 
were  hid — perhaps  these  were  his  murderers  before  her ; 
if  she  were  seen,  her  life  would  be  forfeited  also  !  She 
could  observe  Solomon's  face  from  where  she  lay,  and  she 
saw  his  eyes  fixed  with  a  look  of  fascination  upon  the  spot 
where  Regan  was  delving  with  his  knife  and  turning  up 
the  clay  with  his  hands. 

Regan  said  at  last,  "  I  think  I'm  near  it  now." 

Mary's  blood  ran  cold  ;  was  it  her  brother's  corpse  they  /- 
were  "uncovering  ?  Solomon's  look  became  more  intense,  vj 
and  in  a  minute  more  he  exclaimed,  "  That's  it,  that's  it  ! " 
and  with  his  hands  outstretched  like  the  claws  of  a  bird  of 
prey,  he  pounced  upon  the  hole  that  Regan  had  made  and 
rooted  up  the  bag.  "  I  have  it,  I  have  it !  "  said  he,  unable 
to  contain  his  transport  at  the  sight  of  his  regained  treas- 
ure, which  he  hugged  up  close  to  his  breast  as  a  mother 
would  hug  her  first-born. 

Regan  looked  at  him  with  a  mixture  of  suspicion  and 
ferocity  in  his  countenance  perfectly  horrible,  and  neither 
of  them  spoke  for  some  seconds. 

Solomon  was  the  first  to  break  silence,  and,  rising  from 
his  seat,  he  said,  "  I  b'lieve  we  may  as  well  go  now." 

"  Go  where  ? "  said  Regan. 

"  Out  o'  this,"  said  Solomon  ;  "  we  need  not  stay  here 
any  longer." 

"Why,  aren't  you  going  to  bury  it  again  ?" 

"  Yis,  in  another  place." 

"Why,  you  told  me  you  had  more  to  put  to  it  !  " 

"Ay,  ay,  and  so  I  will  put  this  along  wid  th'  other." 

"  But  you  said  you'd  put  what  more  you  had  here  > " 
said  Regan,  who  began  to  see  the  trick  the  tink&r  meant 
to  play  him. 

"  Well,  that's  what  I  intindid"  said  Solomon  ;  "  but  I 
changed  my  mind  sence,  and  I  think  this  will  be  safer 
along  wid  th'  other  ;  come  wid  me,  and  we'll  put  it  there," 
and  he  arose  to  depart  as  he  spoke. 

Regan  laid  his  hand  on  the  skirt  of  the  tinker's  ragged 
coat,  and  dragged  him  to  his  seat  again  as  he  said,  "  You 
won't  go  that  way,  as  cunnin'  as  you  think  yourself  !  Don't 
be  catchin'  your  young  birds  with  chaff  that  way,  Solomon 
Sly,  my  darlin'  ;  owld  soiers  are  not  to  be  done  with  gin- 
gerbread !  " 

"  What  do  you  mane,  Shan  avici  "  said  Solomon,  endeav- 
oring to  affect  composure. 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  mane,"  said  Regan,  with  decided  fe- 


^^8  RORY   O'MORE. 

rocky  in  his  manner  :  "  I  mane,  that  the  divil  an  out  o'  this 
you  take  that  money  so  aisy  !  " 

"Why,  you  wouldn't  hendher  me  o'  puttin'  my  money 
where  I  like,  would  you,  Shan  agra?"  said  Solomon,  still 
endeavoring  to  maintain  a  quiet  state  of  things  ;  but  while 
he  assumed  so  much  indifference,  he  kept  an  iron  grip  on 
the  money-bag. 

"  I'll  hendher  you  takin'  it  out  o'  this— by  this  knife,  I 
will !  "  said  Regan,  as  he  clutched  the  weapon  fiercely,  and 
shook  it  with  vehemence  in  the  tinker's  face. 

Solomon  changed  countenance  a  little  as  he  attempted 
further  wheedling. 

"Can't  you  come  and  see  where  I  put  it  along  wid  the 
rest  ? "  said  he. 

''  Alo?ig  wid  the  rest,  indeed  !  That  was  a  purty  humbug 
you  made  me  b'lieve,  you  owld  villain  !  Along  wid  the 
rest  !— go  and  see  where  you  put  it  !  Yis,  you  threacherous 
owld  thief  !  go  out  on  the  public  road  wid  you,  and  then 
you'll  make  some  fine  excuse  as  'cute  as  a  leprauchaun, 
and  give  me  the  slip  !  No,  no  ;  I  have  you  now,  and  I'll 
have  my  own  o'  you  !  You  promised  me  some  of  it,  and 
I'll  have  it,  or  I'll  know  why." 

"  You  wouldn't  take  the  money  from  a  poor  owld  man, 
would  you,  Shan,  dear  ?  " 

"  Poor,  indeed  !  "  said  Regan.  "Why,  you  owld  starved 
'ottomy,  that  never  had  the  heart  to  buy  a  male's  mate,  or 
a  hearty  glass,  you  have  more  goold  than  many  a  sportin' 
fellow  in  the  counthry,  and  more  than  ever  you  can  want; 
and  I  do  want  it,  and,  what's  more— and  take  one  word  for 
all—by  the  blessed  light,  I'll  have  it  before  you  lave  this  !  'J 

"  Why,  Regan,  it's  not  robbin'  an  owld  man  you'd  be  ? " 

"  Robbin'  \—you  talk  of  robbin' !  Tell  me,  you  gray  owld 
vagabond,  who  was  it  stole  the  stakes  of  the  spoil-five  in 
the  Folly  ?  You  thought  no  one  saw  you,  did  you  ?  but  I 
seen  it — I  did,  and  now  I'll  see  who  can  play  the  best  game 
here  !  Gi'  me  the  half  o'  that  bag,  and  be  thankful  I  don't 
take  it  all ! — you  know  you  promised  me  a  share  of  it." 

"  Yis,  yis,  I  did,"  said  Solomon,  "  and  I'll  keep  my  word, 
Shan,  dear— I  will ;  but  you  remember  I  said  it  should  be 
afther  I  die." 

''Die?  "  said  Regan,  with  terrible  meaning  in  his  voice; 
"die  ?     Take  care  how  you  put  me  in  mind  o'  that !" 

Solomon  looked  ghastly  at  the  implied  threat,  and  said 
imploringly  :  "  Oh,  Shan,  Shan  !  sure  you  wouldn't  mur- 
dher  me  ! ' 


/?<?/? r   O'MORE.  2551 

"  Who  was  it  taught  me  last  Sunday  three  weeks  ? — who 
was  it  said  in  the  Folly  that  ^  dead  men  tell  no  tales  1 ' — eh  ?" 
and  his  voice  assumed  a  deeper  tone. 

"  Oh,  Shan,  Shan  !  you  wouldn't,  you  wouldn't  !  "  And 
Solomon  again  attempted  to  rise  and  depart ;  but  Regan 
laid  a  still  fiercer  grasp  upon  him  than  he  had  yet  done, 
and  said  : 

"Wouldn't  I  ?"  with  the  scowl  of  a  fiend.  "Give  me 
the  half  o'  that  money,  or  I'll  make  a  way  to  your  throat 
nearer  than  your  mouth — by  the  'tarnal,  I  will !  Will  you 
give  it  ?  " 

Solomon  did  not  speak,  but  clutched  his  money-bag 
faster. 

"Will  you,  I  say?"  said  Regan,  getting  more  excited, 
and  gripping  his  knife  with  as  determined  a  purpose  as  the 
tinker  clutched  his  treasure. 

Solomon  now  gathered  all  the  strength  he  had  left  into 
one  desperate  effort,  and,  in  the  hope  of  alarming  Regan, 
raised  his  voice  and  shouted,  "  Murdher  !  murdher  !  " 

"  You'll  have  it,  then  !  "  said  Regan,  who  step  by  step 
was  worked  up  to  desperation,  and  rushing  on  the  old  man, 
he  caught  him  by  the  throat,  flung  him  to  the  ground,  and, 
with  uplifted  knife,  was  about  to  throw  himself  upon  him 
with  a  horrible  curse,  when  Mary  O'More,  whose  mind  had 
been  wrought  to  the  highest  pitch  of  terror-stricken  ex- 
citement, could  contain  her  feelings  no  longer,  and  uttered 
an  appalling  shriek  ;  and  as  the  echoes  of  the  valley  rang 
to  the  scream,  Regan  stood  petrified  with  alarm. 

Solomon  took  advantage  of  his  terror,  and  looking 
toward  the  spot  whence  the  scream  proceeded,  he  saw,  as 
he  arose  at  the  same  instant,  the  girl  emerge  from  her 
place  of  concealment  ;  and  with  an  activity  surprising  for 
one  in  his  weakened  condition,  he  was  at  her  side  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  clinging  to  her,  prevented  the  escape  she  medi- 
tated. "  Save  me  !  save  me  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  held 
her  with  the  energy  and  tenacity  of  terror. 

The  consequences  of  a  witness  being  present  at  what 
had  taken  place,  flashed  upon  Regan's  mind  in  an  instant  ; 
and  once  being  committed  in  an  act  of  outrage,  despera- 
tion urged  him  onward,  and  seeing  Mary  O'More  in  sucli 
a  position  'nflamed  his  brutal  nature  with  thoughts  fitter 
for  hell  than  earth.  To  divide  Solomon  and  the  girl,  and 
dispose  of  them  separately,  was  his  object  ;  so  stimulating 
Solomon  by  the  hope  of  saving  his  gold,  he  said  : 

"  Go  off  wid  you — be  off,  you  and  your  money,  and  lave 


26o  RORY  O'MORE. 

this  young  woman  with  me  ;  I  want  to  have  some  words 
with  her." 

Mary  was  now  the  person  to  cling  to  the  tinker,  who 
endeavored  to  shake  her  off,  while  she  begged  for  the  love 
of  God  he  would  not  desert  her. 

"  Let  him  go,  I  tell  you  ! "  said  Regan. 

"  No  !  no  !  "  screamed  the  girl. 

The  vile  old  miser,  whose  life  she  had  just  saved,  now 
eagerly  endeavored  to  loose  himself  from  her  hold,  and 
leave  her  in  the  hands  of  the  ruffian  from  whose  knife  she 
had  delivered  him,  and,  in  the  desire  to  save  his  gold, 
would  have  left  her  in  peril  of  worse  than  death. 

"Let  me  go,  I  bid  you  !  "  cried  the  tinker,  impatiently, 
and  striking  as  fiercely  as  he  could  at  the  straining  hands 
which  held  him. 

"  For  the  Blessed  Virgin,  I  beseech  you,  Solomon 
darlin',"  cried  the  agonized  girl,  "don't  lave  me  with  that 
horrid  man  !  Oh,  Solomon  !  afther  savin'  your  life,  don't 
lave  me  this  way  !  " 

Solomon  seemed  for  an  instant  to  have  a  touch  of  com- 
punction, but  Regan  said,  "If  you  stav  here  two  minutes 
longer  the  divil  a  guinea  you'll  ever  lift  out  o'  this  !  Be  off, 
and  lave  this  spyin'  young  lady  with  me." 

The  threat  roused  Solomon  to  action,  and  again  he  en- 
deavored to  shake  INIary  from  him.  She  threw  herself 
upon  her  knees  before  him,  and,  clasping  him  firmly  round 
his  trembling  limbs,  besought  him,  in  the  most  earnest  and 
touching  manner,  not  to  abandon  her. 

"  Oh,  sure,  you  wouldn't  desert  the  poor,  helpless,  inno- 
cent girl — sure  you  wouldn't!  God  won't  forgive  you  if 
you  do.     Oh,  sweet  Virgin,  protect  me  !  " 

"  Shake  her  off,  I  tell  you,  and  save  your  money,  or,  by 
all  the  divils  in  he?l,  LU  have  the  lives  o'  both  o'  yez  ! " 
shouted  Regan,  as  he  laid  hold  of  Mary  O'Mo^e  and 
dragged  her  fiercely  from  Solomon,  who  struggled  to  dis- 
engage himself  from  her,  and  at  last,  by  his  striking  her 
heavily  on  the  hands^  the  unfortunate  girl  was  forced  to 
relinquish  her  grasp  ;  but  at  the  same  moment  she  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  regain  her  feet,  and  springing  from  her 
knees,  turned  with  the  energy  of  desperation  upon  Regan, 
and  cried  with  vehemence, 

"  May  the  God  that  looks  down  on  us  judge  and  punish 
you  if  you  wrong  me,  Shan  Regan  ! " 

The  moment  Solomon  found  himself  free,  he  exerted 
what  speed  he  might  in  getting  away  ;  and  Regan,  hold* 


RORY  O'MORE.  26I 

ing  Mary  with  a  grip  of  iron,  and  looking  on  Iiei  with 
demoniac  triumph,  said  : 

"Now  I'll  taclie  you,  my  saucy  lady,  how  you'll  gibe  and 
jilt  a  man  !  and  you'll  larn  more  in  the  glen  than  you  came 
to  watch  for  ! " 

With  these  words,  he  attempted  to  seize  her  round  the 
waist ;  but  Mary  made  an  active  resistance,  and  maintained 
a  surprising  struggle  against  the  ruffian's  assault  ;  but  every 
instant  her  power  to  repel  became  less,  her  exclamations 
to  Heaven  grew  weaker,  and  at  last  her  short  and  gasping 
shriek  gave  token  that  she  felt  her  remaining  strength  fast 
failing. 

Just  at  this  moment,  when  she  was  nearly  within  the  ir- 
recoverable grip  of  Shan  Dhu,  the  baying  of  hounds 
reached  her  ear,  and  she  screamed  with  wild  joy  : 

"The  hunt  !  the  hunt  !" 

Regan  made  a  last  desperate  effort  to  drag  her  into  tlie 
hazel-wood,  where  he  might  effect  concealment  and 
drown  her  cries ;  but,  inspired  by  the  hope  of  succor, 
Mary  redoubled  her  efforts,  and  while  she  was  writhing 
in  the  unequal  struggle,  a  fox  ran  close  beside  them  and 
dashed  across  the  glen  as  the  cry  of  the  hounds  grew  louder, 

"  They're  coming  !  they're  coming!"  she  cried;  "you 
villain,  they're  coming !  there's  the  fox !  Oh,  Blessed 
Virgin,  you've  saved  me  !  " 

The  cheering  cry  of  the  dogs  again  rang  up  the  glen, 
the  pack  opened  louder  and  louder  every  instant,  and,  in 
dread  of  discovery,  Regan  dashed  into  the  wood  and 
climbed  up  the  cliff. 

The  moment  she  was  freed  from  his  grasp,  Mary 
O'More  ran  with  wild  speed  down  the  glen  toward  the 
point  whence  the  sound  of  the  chase  proceeded,  and  soon 
saw  the  horsemen  urging  forward.  The  moment  she  be- 
held them,  the  certainty  of  protection  produced  so  violent 
a  revulsion  of  feeling  that  her  brain  reeled  as  she  rushed 
forward,  and  she  fell  prostrate  to  the  earth. 

Among  the  foremost  of  the  horsemen  was  Mr.  Dixon,  a 
magistrate — a  gentleman  of  a  kinder  nature  than  the  gen- 
erality of  his  class.  He  rode  beside  Squire  Ransford,  and 
they  both  saw  the  precipitous  flight  of  Mary  O'More  down 
the  glen.  Mr.  Dixon  remarked  the  circumstance  to  the 
squire,  who  attributed  the  headlong  speed  of  the  girl  to 
her  fear  of  the  hounds.  Still  Mr.  Dixon  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  on  Mary  ;  and  seeing  her  fall,  he  exclaimed,  "Down 
ishe  g^oes  ! ' 


262  RORY   O'MORE. 

"  Let  her  pick  herself  up  again  !  "  said  the  squire,  as  h% 
dashed  forward  in  the  chase. 

But  the  magistrate,  though  fond  of  hunting,  thought 
there  were  other  things  in  this  world  worth  thinking  (jf, 
he  had  some  heart  about  him,  with  which  the  squire  was 
not  troubled  ;  and,  despite  the  alluring  notes  of  "  Sweet- 
lips  "  and  "Merry-lass,"  who  gave  tongue  ahead  in  good 
style,  he  drew  his  bridle  when  he  saw  the  fugitive  sink  to 
the  earth,  and  rode  up  to  the  prostrate  girl,  while  the  rest 
of  the  hunt  followed  the  squire,  and  left  the  office  of 
charity  to  him  ;  and  well  for  poor  Mary  O'More  that  there 
was  one  to  pity  and  protect  her ! 

Mr.  Dixon  alighted,  and  was  some  time  before  he  could 
calm  the  impatience  of  his  excited  horse,  which  panted 
with  eagerness  to  continue  the  chase,  and  he  could  not 
attend  to  Mary  until  he  had  soothed  his  steed  into 
quietness  ;  then  throwing  the  rein  over  his  arm,  he  knelt 
down  to  raise  the  fainting  girl  from  the  earth,  and  found 
her  in  a  state  of  complete  insensibility.  Seeing  that  to 
restore  her  would  require  his  undivided  attention,  he  led 
his  horse,  which  still  pulled  at  his  arm  with  impatience, 
to  a  thorn-tree,  and  fastening  the  bridle  to  it,  he  hastened 
back  to  Mary. 

Raising  her  gently  from  the  earth,  he  carried  her  close 
to  the  river  ;  and  there,  by  copiously  sprinkling  the  cool 
sf:ream  over  her  face,  which  a  death-like  paleness  over- 
spread— a  paleness  rendered  more  striking  by  the  dark 
hair  that  streamed  loosely  around  her  head  and  neck — he 
gradually  restored  her  to  life  ;  but  it  was  some  time  before 
consciousness  returned.  The  sound  of  many  waters  w^as 
in  her  ears  as  she  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  vaguely 
around.  When  she  caught  the  first  glimpse  of  Mr.  Dixon, 
the  sight  of  a  human  face  seemed  to  startle  her,  and  she 
attempted  to  scream  ;  but  her  exhausted  energies  could 
only  give  vent  to  a  hard-drawn  sigh.  The  soothing  tone 
in  which  she  was  spoken  to  tended  to  restore  her,  and 
after  some  time  she  uttered  a  few  broken  sentences  ;  but 
from  previous  terror,  such  was  the  incoherency  of  her  ex- 
pressions, that  Mr.  Dixon  could  only  conjecture  she  had 
been  in  personal  danger,  and  therefore  besought  him  to 
protect  her. 

"  I  will,  my  poor  girl — I  will." 

"  God  bless  you,  sir  !  you  won't  lave  me  alone  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not ;  calm  yourself." 

*'  Are  they  gone  ? "  said  she,  looking  wildly  up  the  glen- 


RORY   O'MORE.  263 

Mr.  Dixon  thought  she  might  have  been  frightened  by 
tlie  hounds,  as  the  squire  had  supposed  ;  and  as  she 
looked  in  the  direction  they  had  taken,  he  said,  "  Yes,  the 
dogs  are  all  gone." 

"  Oh,  it's  not  thitp.  ;  sure,  they  were  the  salvation  o'  me  ; 
only  for  the  hunt,  1  was  lost — lost  forever !  " 

The  magistrate  by  degrees  learnt  the  cause  of  her 
alarm,  and  asked  t>er  nanie.  When  she  told  him,  he  said 
he  supposed  that  Rory  O'More  was  her  brother. 

"Brother!"  said  she,  wildly.  -'Oh,  I've  no  brother 
now  !  "  and  relapsed  into  tears. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?"  said  Mr.  Dixon. 

"  Oh,  I'm  afeard  they've  murdered  him  !  they  confessed 
it  a'most  before  me." 

This  led  to  further  questions  on  the  magistrate's  part  : 
and  Mary  at  length  told  all  the  particulars  of  what  she 
had  witnessed  between  Shan  Dhu  and  the  tinker. 

When  she  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  walk,  Mr.  Dixon 
accompanied  her  from  the  glen  to  the  village,  and  there 
Mary  got  a  friend  to  escort  her  to  her  home  ;  for  even  on 
the  open  road  she  feared  to  be  alone,  so  shaken  had  her 
nerves  become  by  the  terrible  scene  she  had  gone 
through. 

Mr.  Dixon  determined  on  having  Mary's  depositions 
taken  and  sworn  to  in  regular  judicial  form,  and  for  that 
purpose  rode  over  next  day,  with  the  squire  and  Sweeny, 
to  the  widow's  cottage. 

On  leaving  the  house.  Sweeny  suggested  that  this  story 
of  Mary's  might  be  all  a  stratagem  to  divert  the  suspicion 
which  attached  to  Rory,  on  the  subject  of  the  collector's 
disappearance,  into  another  channel.  Mr.  Dixon  said  she 
had  done  more  than  divert  suspicion,  for  that  she  had 
named  the  guilty  parties. 

"  But  how  can  you  tell  she  speaks  the  truth  ? "  said  the 
spiteful  little  attorney,  whose  hatred  of  Rory  for  the  tomb- 
stone affair  was  so  bitter,  that  all  of  his  name  were  sharers 
in  it. 

"  We  must  have  Regan  and  the  tinker  arrested,"  said 
Mr.  Dixon. 

"  If  you  can  find  them,"  said  Sweeny. 

"  Well,  if  they  keep  out  of  the  way,  it  will  be  strong  pre 
sumptive  evidence  of  their  guilt." 

"  Ah  !  you're  not  up  to  them  as  well  as  I  am  ;  they  maybe 
all  in  the  plot  for  what  you  know." 

"  They're  a  pack  of  rebels  altogether,"  said  the  squire ; 


264  RORV  O'MORE. 

'*  and  until  the  country  is  cleared  of  them,  we  shall  have 
no  peace." 

"  You're  right,  squire,"  said  Sweeny. 

"Well,  I  have  not  quite  so  bad  an  opinion  of  them,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Dixon  ;  "  nor  do  I  think  the  girl's  story  a  mere 
fiction.  We  must  have  Regan  and  the  tinker  arrested  as 
the  next  step." 

The  proper  authorities  were  despatched  for  this  purpose 
to  Regan's  house  ;  but  they  found  him  not,  and  for  many 
days  a  useless  search  was  prosecuted.  As  for  Solomon, 
he  had  no  home  where  to  seek  him,  and  the  officers  had 
therefore  a  roving  commission  to  lay  hands  on  him  as  they 
might  ;  but  he  eluded  their  vigilance,  and  no  one  interested 
in  their  apprehension  could  catch  the  smallest  clew  to  the 
finding  of  Shan  Dhu  and  the  tinker. 

The  priest  suggested  a  visit  to  the  lonely  hut  where  he 
had  seen  Solomon  in  his  sickness,  and  a  party  undertook 
the  search  immediately  ;  but  the  hut  was  deserted.  Traces, 
however,  of  the  recent  visit  of  man  were  manifest  ;  the 
fresh  peelings  of  some  boiled  potatoes  were  strewn  upon 
the  floor,  and  the  yet  warm  embers  of  a  turf  fire  were  in 
the  corner  of  the  hovel. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

In  which  Rory  makes  his  First  Trip  to  Sea  a  Voyage  of  Discovery. 

It  was  in  a  low  and  retired  fishing  hut  De  Lacy  was 
housed  the  evening  he  reached  the  sea-coast,  there  to 
await  the  arrival  of  the  lugger  off  the  shore.  He  felt 
lonely  on  his  removal  from  those  with  whom  he  had  been 
lately  sojourning,  and  to  whom  he  had  in  a  manner  be- 
come attached,  and  the  efforts  the  inmates  of  the  fishing- 
hut  made  to  entertain  him  were  unavailing  ;  so  he  retired 
to  rest  earlier  than  usual,  wishing  to  indulge  the  thoughts 
in  solitude  which  the  presence  of  others  interrupted  with- 
out dissipating. 

When  on  his  bed  the  influence  of  rest  induced  a  pleasant 
state  of  mind  ;  and  leaving  the  remembrance  of  those  he 
had  parted  from,  Hope  led  him  onward  to  the  shores  of 
France,  where  he  trusted  soon  to  land  in  safety,  and  gather 
the  materials  for  a  victorious  return  to  his  friends  and 
country.  Of  Adele,  too,  he  thought,  and  Love  whispered 
the  joys  of  again  beholding  and  clasping  to  his  heart  the 


RORY  O'MORE.  265 

girl  of  his  affections.  It  was  with  such  pleasing  promise 
on  his  imagination  that  he  closed  his  eyes  ;  and  the  downy 
wing  of  slumber,  waving  over  his  senses,  fanned  this  spark 
of  hopefulness  into  flame,  and  all  night  long  he  dreamt  of 
his  Adele — of  their  joyful  meeting — of  her  blushes  and 
her  smiles — of  her  enthusiasm  at  the  prospect  of  his  name 
yet  living  among  the  bright  ones  that  should  be  dear  to 
his  country — of  their  anticipation  of  future  pleasures  on 
the  war  being  past — when  the  warrior  should  subside  into 
the  husband,  and  Love  bind  the  garland  of  victory  on  his 
brow !  Oh,  youth  !  youth  ! — how  dost  thou  teem  with 
golden  visions — while  the  dreamy  impressions  of  age  are 
but  cast  in  lead  ! 

De  Lacy  arose  from  his  slumbers  as  though  he  had  fed 
on  ambrosia  over  night — with  that  elastic  feeling  of  exist- 
ence which  belongs  to  the  hopeful  lover.  Influenced  througli 
the  whole  day  by  his  dreamy  intoxication,  he  revelled  \\\ 
alternate  visions  of  glory  and  of  love.  As  he  roved  alonjr 
the  strand,  if  he  turned  to  watch  the  changeful  effects  ol' 
the  sea,  he  looked  upon  the  noble  ocean  stretched  befonv 
him  as  the  high-road  to  his  glorious  aspirations  ;  and  Hopt; 
seemed  to  beckon  him  across  the  deep  ;  while,  as  the  surg<f 
thundered  at  their  feet,  and  was  swept  backward  in  foam  tci 
the  main,  he  heard  the  voice  of  Victory  in  the  sound  call- 
ing him  to  enterprise.  If  he  looked  upward,  and  beheld 
the  seaward-clouds  sailing  toward  the  land  of  his  Adele, 
his  musing  was  in  a  softer  mood  ;  and  as  some  touch  of 
sunshine  tipped  their  delicate  forms,  it  was  recognized  by 
his  heart  as  a  good  omen.  He  was  all  excitement,  and 
while  he  fed  on  such  sweet  fancies  he  drew  forth  his  pencil 
to  play  with  the  pleasant  thoughts  as  they  arose,  and  soon 
imagination  bore  him  beyond  the  world  in  which  he 
breathed.  The  roar  of  the  booming  sea  was  lost  in  the  sil- 
ver sounds  of  fairv  fountains  ;  the  whistle  of  the  brisk  winds 
sweeping  across  the  waves,  to  which  his  blood  danced  as 
he  mused,  was  unheard  amid  the  whisper  of  the  breeze 
through  rustling  groves  ;  and  the  rough  shingle  of  the 
shore  whereon  he  walked  felt  under  the  foot  of  the  enthu. 
siast  like  the  golden  sands  of  the  classic  fountain.  He 
was  in  the  land  of  dreams. 

"THE    LAND   OF   DREAMS. 

"  There  is  a  land  where  Fancy's  twining 
Her  flowers  around  life's  fading  tree, 
Where  light  is  ever  softly  shining, 
Like  sunset  o'er  a  tranquil  sea. 


266  JiORY   O'MORE. 

'Tis  there  thou  dwelFst  in  beauty's  brightness, 
More  fair  than  aught  on  earth  ere  seems  ; 

'Tis  there  my  heart  feels  most  of  lightness — 
There  in  the  lovely  land  of  dreams  ! 

"'Tis  there  in  groves  I  often  meet  thee, 

And  wander  through  the  sylvan  shade, 
When  I  in  the  gentlest  accents  greet  thee, 

My  own,  my  sweet,  my  constant  maid  ! 
There,  by  some  fountain  fair  reposing, 

Where  all  around  so  tranquil  seems, 
We  wait  the  golden  evening  closing — 

There,  in  the  lovely  land  of  dreams  ! 

"  But  when  the  touch  of  earthly  waking 

Hath  broken  slumber's  sweetest  spell. 
Those  fabled  joys  of  Fancy's  making 

Are  in  my  heart  remembered  well ! 
The  day  in  all  its  sunshine  splendor. 

Less  fair  to  me  than  midnight  seems, 
When  visions  shed  a  light  more  tender 

Around  the  lovely  land  of  dreams  ! " 

But  while  De  Lacy  was  indulging  his  poetic  mood,  in-= 
haling  the  fresh  breeze  and  treading  the  open  strand,  poor 
Rory  was  lying  captive  not  many  miles  distant,  confined 
in  a  close  hovel,  almost  smothered  with  smoke,  and  revolv- 
ing far  other  notions  in  his  busy  brain.  So  closely  were 
he  and  the  collector  watched,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
make  an  attempt  at  escape  ;  and  Rory,  from  the  character 
of  the  fellows  w^ho  had  undertaken  the  business,  looked 
upon  any  plan  for  deliverance  within  his  power  to  execute 
as  hopeless  ;  they  were  all  up  to  everything  in  the  way  of 
finesse  and  expedient  ;  and  however  he  might  overreach  a 
booby  ensign,  a  chuckle-headed  sergeant,  or  an  amorous 
colonel,  a  party  of  smugglers  were  as  much  masters  of 
fence  as  he  was  himself  ;  therefore,  he  felt  there  was  noth- 
ing left  but  to  meet  with  fortitude  whatever  fate  awaited 
him.  At  the  same  time,  however,  he  cast  many  an  anx- 
ious thought  homeward  ;  and  the  uneasiness  he  knew  his 
mother  and  sister  would  suffer  at  his  absence  caused  him 
more  anxiety  than  any  other  consideration.  When  the  day 
was  over — and  to  Rory  it  seemed  the  longest  he  had  ever 
passed — another  removal  of  tlie  prisoners  took  place,  and 
under  cover  of  darkness  they  were  conducted  to  the  sea- 
coast,  and  put  on  board  a  small  fishing-boat  that  lay  at  an- 
chor a  short  distance  from  the  shore  ;  they  were  stowed 
away  in  the  fore  part  of  the  boat,  and  Rory  could  hear 
them  making  preparations  for  putting  to  sea.      In  vain  did 


RORY   O'MORE.  ±6y 

he  inquire  what  they  were  going  to  do  with  him  ;  he  could 
not  get  any  answer  to  his  questions,  and  was  desired  to 
"howld  his  whisht  !" 

In  the  meantime,  De  Welskein  had  gone  forward  to  the 
fishing  hut  where  De  Lacy  was  remaining,  and  told  him 
to  be  in  readiness  to  put  to  sea  that  night. 

"  Is  the  lugger  on  the  coast,  then  ?  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"  No,  monsieur  ;  we  shall  find  her  some  leagues  to  sea. 
She  keeps  a  good  offing  ;  but  the  smack  will  run  us  out  to 
meet  her." 

When  the  night  fell,  De  Lacy  was  summoned  to  go  on 
board,  and  getting  into  the  punt  of  the  fishing-boat,  was 
rowed  alongside,  in  company  with  De  Welskein. 

The  punt  was  hauled  up,  and  the  sails  hoisted,  and  away 
bore  the  smack  for  the  ocean. 

Poor  Rory  soon  got  wretchedly  sea-sick  ;  and  never  hav- 
ing heard  of  the  nature  of  that  most  distressing  of  all  sen- 
sations, thought  he  was  going  to  die,  and  lamented,  in  the 
lapses  of  his  paroxysms  of  nausea,  that  he  was  doomed  to 
suffer  so  miserable  a  death.  "  Oh,  if  they'd  shoot  me  it- 
self, or  drownd  me  at  wanst  !  but  to  have  a  man  turned 
inside  out  this  way,  like  a — ow  !  murdher  !  my  heart'll  be 
up  next ! " 

De  Welskein  laid  his  course  all  night  toward  the  point 
where  he  expected  to  find  his  lugger,  and  as  the  morning 
dawned  she  was  perceptible  ;  signals  were  exchanged,  the 
two  vessels  approached  each  other,  and  a  boat  being  low- 
ered from  the  lugger,  De  Welskein  and  De  Lacy  went 
aboard. 

De  Lacy  had  been  on  the  deck  of  the  fishing-smack  all 
night,  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  for  the  mingled  stench  of 
fish,  tobacco,  and  bilge-water,  rendered  the  little  crib  they 
called  cabin,  intolerable.  When  he  went  up  the  side  of 
the  smusfo-ler,  De  Welskein  said  he  must  want  rest  after  so 
long  and  cold  a  watch,  and  recommended  him  to  turn  in. 
De  Lacy  declined  doing  so  immediately,  but  as  De  Wel- 
skein wanted  to  make  a  transfer  of  the  prisoners  from  the 
fishing-smack  without  De  Lacy's  knowledge,  he  assumed 
a  sort  of  laughing  consequence  as  captain  of  his  own  ves- 
sel, declared  he  was  absolute  there,  and  insisted  on  De 
Lacy's  going  to  rest,  offering  him  his  own  berth  for  the 
purpose.  The  moment  De  Lacy  was  below,  Rory  and 
Scrubbs  were  brought  on  board  the  lugger,  which  put  on 
every  stitch  of  canvas  she  could  carry,  and  stretched  away 
at  a  spanking  rate  for  Fr.ince. 


268  RORY   O'MORE. 

But,  sick  as  poor  Rory  was,  his  senses  were  sufficiently 
about  him  to  observe  that  they  were  removed  to  a  larger 
vessel  ;  and  as  he  passed  along  the  deck  he  heard  the  voice 
of  Dc  Welskein  ;  this  was  enough  for  Rory's  enlighten- 
ment, and  he  became  certain  that  De  Lacy  must  be  on 
board.  When  conducted  with  Scrubbs  below,  and  placed 
there  in  confinement,  the  excitement  produced  by  this  last 
discovery  made  him  rally  against  the  sea-sickness  more 
than  he  had  hitherto  done,  and  in  the  intervals  of  the 
malady  his  head  was  at  work  in  planning  by  what  means 
he  could  let  De  Lacy  know  he  was  in  the  same  ship. 
"  Roaring  is  no  use,"  thought  he,  "  for  they  make  sitch  a 
hullabaloo  here  that  one  might  roar  their  heart  out  and 
never  be  heard  ;  for  there  is  such  thumpin'  and  bvunpin', 
and  crashin'  and  squashin',  and  rumblin'  and  tumblin',  and 
first  up  on  one  side  and  then  down  on  th'  other,  that  1 
don't  wondher  they  are  roarin'  and  bawlin'  up  there,  on 
the  roof  over  us."  (The  roof  was  the  name  Rory  gave  the 
deck,  because  it  was  over  his  head.)  "  By  gor  !  I  wond- 
her how  they  howld  on  there  at  all  !  for  here,  even  in  thi',; 
room — and  indeed  there's  but  little  room  in  it — it's  as 
much  as  I  can  do  to  keep  my  brains  from  bein'  knocked 
out  agin'  th'  other  side  o'  the  wall  sometimes  ;  and  how 
the  dickins  can  thim  chaps  keep  from  bein'  thrown  off  the 
roof  and  dhrownded  ! — only,  as  I  said  of  thim  before,  thini 

that's  born    to   be    hanged "     Here    Rory's   thoughts 

were  cut  short  by  getting  a  jerk  to  the  opposite  side  oi 
his  prison  and  having  another  qualm  of  his  new  malady. 
The  wind  had  changed,  and  become  adverse,  De  Welskein 
was  obliged  to  go  about  very  often  ;  and  this  produced  so 
much  delay  that  their  course,  which  they  were  likely  to 
run  in  twenty-four  hours  had  the  wind  held  as  it  promised 
in  the  morning,  was  not  completed  under  two  days. 

At  the  close  of  the  first  day,  the  prisoners  were  visited 
by  a  black,  who,  by  order  of  De  Welskein,  brought  them 
something  to  eat,  but  the  sight  of  food  only  produceil 
loathing. 

"  Ou  be  berry  sick  now,  eh  ?  " 

"Oh,  I'm  kilt!" 

*'  Take  um  lilly  bit — do  ura  good." 

"  Oh,  take  it  out  o'  that,  for  God's  sake  !  " 

"  Berry  nice — um  nice  an'  fat." 

The  name  of  fat  was  enough,  and  poor  Rory  was  set  ori 
again. 

The  negro  laughed,  as  all  sailors  do  at  the  suffering  of 


a  novice  to  the  motion  of  a  rhip  ;  and  liaving  had  his  joke, 
'^c  did  not  ofl'er  any  more  fat,  but  ?-uggested  to  Rory  to 
take  some  brandy. 

"Berry  good  for  sea-sick." 

"Oh  !  let  me  die  where  I  am,  and  don't  taze  me !''  said 
Hory. 

' '  Nebl)er  be  sitch  dam  fool !  Brandy  berry  good — best 
ting  nm  can  take  for  sea-sick.  Come,  come,  poor  lan'- 
lul)ber  !  open  ira  mout.  Ceve,  ou  dam  fool ! — brandy  berry 
good  ! "  . 

The  drop  of  spirit  Rorj'  swallowed  did  him  service ;  and 
the  black,  who  was  a  good-natured  fellow,  before  he  left  the 
prisoners,  gave  them  both  some  brandv-and-water ;  and 
the  dry  and  parching  sensation  Avhich  poor  Rory  experi- 
enced, as  well  as  his  exhaustion,  was  much  relieved  by  the 
negro's  recipe. 

After  some  hours  the  negro  came  again ;  and  though 
Rory  could  not  eat  he  took  some  more  of  the  diluted  spirit ; 
and  that  night  he  experienced  some  sleep,  after  havii.g 
had  another  talk  with  blackey. 

The  next  morning,  when  Rory's  sable  friend  made  his 
appearance  offering  some  breakfast,  the  course  of  the  vc-;- 
sel  v;as  far  smoother  than  it  had  hitherto  been,  and  Ro:'y 
was  better  able  to  listen  to  the  proposal  of  eating. 

"Trv  lillv  bit,   man,"  said  the  black. 

''I'm  afraid  a'most,"  said  Rory. 

'•Xebber  be  afraid  ;  ou  not  sick  dis  day,  like  other  day  ; 
him  cheek  not  so  white,  him  eye  not  so  like  dead  tish — try 
bit,  man — berry  good.  Me  know  'tis  good — me  make  it 
myself." 

"Why,  thin,  God  bless  yon  !  did  you  make  it  on  purpose 
for  me  ?"  said  Rory. 

The  negro  grinned.  "No,  no — me  not  so  good  to  lan'- 
hibbor  as'dat  !     Me  cook." 

"Well,  I'm  obleeged  to  you,  anyhow.  And  would  you 
tell  me,  sir,  if  you  plaze,  is  Misther  De  Lacy  well  ?" 

This  was  Rory's  first  thrust  at  his  object. 

"Massy  I^acy — him  gen'lman  dat  come  wid  cap'n  a- 
boord?" 

"Yis,  sir." 

"Oh,  him  berry  well  now — lilly  sick  first;  but  now 
smood  water — near  de  bay  now.  Me  go  give  him  and  de 
cai)t'n  sometin'  for  brek'f's  soon,  Take  nudder  b!ly  bit, 
man." 

"No,  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Rory.     "And  is  it  yon  t!i:;t 


fjo 


JiORY  O'MORE. 


is  goin'  to   take    the   captain    and  Misther  De  Lacy   the 
brequest  ? " 

"  Iss.  Me  wait  on  um — me  de  cook — black  man  always 
cook." 

"  The  devil  sends  cooks,"  thought  Rory,  and  he  could 
not  help  smiling  at  the  thought. 

"  What  um  laugh  at  ?  " 

"Why,  I  was  laughin'  to  think  how  quare  it  is  that  one 
may  find  a  friend  where  they  laste  expect  it,  and  in  the 
greatest  sthrangers.  Give  us  a  dhrop  o'  brandy,  if  you 
plaze." 

"  Dere,  man — make  um  better." 

"  That's  a  great  relief  to  me  ! "  said  Rory.  "  But,  as  I 
was  sayin',  how  a  man  may  meet  a  friend  in  the  greatest 
sthranger  !  You've  been  mighty  good  to  me,  and  I  tell 
you  what  it  is,  I'm  behowlden  to  you  and  obligated  to  you, 
and  I'm  grateful  to  you  ;  and  you  must  take  a  present 
from  me,  to  show  you  how  sinsible  I  am  of  your  tindher- 
ness  for " 

Here  there  was  a  call  for  "  Scipio." 

"  Massa  cap'n  call  me,"  said  Scipio. 

''Well,  give  me  your  fist  before  you  go,"  said  Rory,  who, 
when  he  caught  the  negro's  hand,  said  :  "  Gi'  me  these 
sleeve-buttons  o'  yours  and  I'll  give  you  mine,  and  it'll  be 
a  keepsake  between  us  ; "  and  with  these  words  he  un- 
fastened the  button  from  the  negro's  wrist,  and  inserting 
in  its  place  one  of  the  sleeve-buttons  De  Lacy  gave  him, 
the  negro  ran  off  hastily  to  a  second  and  louder  summons 
from  the  deck. 

"  Now,"  said  Rory,  "if  Misther  De  Lacy  has  the  luck  to 
remark  the  sleeve-button  in  the  blackey's  shirt,  all's  right 
yet." 

The  negro  was  ordered  to  bring  De  Welskein  his  break- 
fast, and  De  Lacy  was  sufficiently  recovered  by  their 
entering  smooth  water  to  join  in  the  repast,  and  was  sharp 
set,  as  men  always  are  the  first  time  they  are  able  to  eat  at 
sea.  The  negro  set  out  the  rough  sea-fare  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage ;  and  as  he  held  a  dish  balanced  in  one  hand  on 
the  edge  of  the  table,  while  he  removed  some  plates  that 
were  opposite  to  De  Lacy  to  make  room  for  it,  De  Lacy 
chanced  to  look  at  what  sort  of  fare  was  coming,  and  his 
eye  caught  the  sleeve-button,  which  he  recognized  as  his 
own,  and  the  same  he  had  given  as  a  parting  gift  to  Rory. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  ?"  said  De  Lacy,  quickly. 

*'  What  ?"  said  De  Welskein,  with  a  penetrating  glance 


RORY  O'MORE.  271 

of  his  dark  eye,  as  he  marked  the  hurried  question  of  De 
Lacy. 

De  Lacy  was  put  on  his  guard  by  the  jealous  quickness 
with  which  De  Welskein  noticed  his  words,  and  said,  "  The 
beef — where  did  you  get  that  fine  beef  ? " 

"Why,  to  bee  sure,  in  Ireland  ;  what  ees  to  soorprise 
you  so  moshe  ? " 

"I  thought  you  never  had  any  but  salted  beef  on  board," 
said  De  Lacy,  who  turned  the  conversation  directly  into 
anotner  channel,  and  as  soon  as  the  meal  was  ended,  went 
on  the  deck.  There  he  saw  they  were  within  a  short  sail 
,  of  land  ;  and  while  they  were  approaching  it,  he  mentally 
turned  over  the  circumstance  that  had  excited  his  notice, 
and  was  lost  in  conjecture  as  to  the  means  by  which  the 
negro  could  have  become  possessed  of  the  sleeve-button. 
He  gave  it  to  Rory,  at  a  distance  of  many  miles  from  the 
coast,  two  days  before  he  embarked  on  board  the  lugger, 
which  is  found  at  sea  many  leagues  ;  and  there  one  of 
these  buttons  is  in  the  possession  of  a  black  man  aboard 
that  lugger,  and  De  Lacy  did  not  remember  the  negro  to 
be  on  board  the  fishing-smack. 

There  was  a  mystery  in  this  ;  and  any  mystery  on  board 
De  Welskein's  boat  respecting  Rory,  in  whom  he  was 
known  to  have  such  confidence,  awakened  De  Lacy's  sus- 
picions of  some  foul  play  to  Rory.  But  while  he  was  on 
board  the  craft  of  the  smuggler,  whom  he  knew  to  be  a 
wily  and  desperate  fellow,  he  thought  it  advisable  not  to 
breathe  a  word  or  exhibit  a  sign  of  his  misgiving  ;  and  so, 
having  run  all  this  over  in  his  own  mind,  he  walked  up 
and  down  the  deck  with  seeming  imconcern,  and  spoke  to 
the  smuggler  as  if  nothing  had  ruffled  him. 

As  they  doubled  a  small  headland  that  shut  in  the  bay 
they  were  entering,  De  Lacy  saw  a  frigate  lying  in  the 
harbor,  and  De  Welskein  said  :  "  There  is  La  Coquette." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"Why  does  monsieur  exclaim  ?  " 

"  Because,  if  that  be  the  Coquette,  the  captain  is  a  friend 
of  mine,  and  I  will  go  aboard  and  see  him." 

On  nearing  the  ship,  De  Welskein's  notion  was  found  to 
be  correct — it  was  La  Coquette.  The  lugger's  boat  was 
lowered,  and  De  Lacy  went  up  the  side  of  the  frigate. 

The  captain  was  on  board,  and  mutual  kind  greetings 
passed  between  the  two  friends.  After  Le  Dacy  had  given 
a  hasty  sketch  of  the  state  of  affairs  in  Ireland,  and  the 
motive  of  his  present  visit  to  France,  he  told  the  captain 


2y2  RORV   O'MORE. 

the  suspicions  he  entertained  that  De  Welslcein  had  been 
playing  a  trick  with  a  friend  of  his,  and  begged  his  assist- 
ance in  setting  matters  right, 

"  Certainly  ;  but  how  ?  " 

"  I  suspect  the  fellow  has  secreted  a  man  on  board,  and 
I  want  to  ascertain  the  fact— and  if  so,  to  get  him  oul  of 
his  power." 

"  But  why  not  order  the  rascal  to  give  him  up  to  you 

before  ? " 

"  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  forgets,  on  the  deck  of  his  own 
ship,  that  I  was  only  a  passenger  on  board  the  smuggler's 
boat  ;  and  her  captain  is  a  very  desperate  fellow  when  he 
chooses— so  I  thought  it  preferable  to  say  nothing  until  I 
could  speak  to  some  purpose.  Now,  under  the  guns  of 
the  Coquette,  Monsieur  de  Welskein  will  be  extremely 
polite  when  he  knows  her  captain  is  my  friend." 

"  Oh,  ho  !  is  that  the  sort  of  gentleman  ? — we'll  soon 
finish  this  affair." 

He  ordered  his  boat  to  be  manned  directly,  and  entering 
it  with  De  Lacy,  they  pulled  into  the  harbor,  where  the 
lugger  had  already  dropped  her  anchor. 

It  was  not  long 'before  De  Lacy  and  the  captain  were  on 
board  the  smuggler. 

"  De  Welskein,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  I  want  to  see  Rory 
O'More." 

"  Rory  O'More  !  "  said  De  Welskein,  with  well-feigned 
surprise  ;  "  monsieur  must  go  back  to  Ireland  if  he  wants 
to  see  him." 

"  No,  no,  De  Welskein,  he's  on  board." 

"You  mistake,  sir,"  said  De  Welskein  ;  "what  can  make 
you  entertain  such  a  suspicion  ?" 

"  No  matter  what,"  said  De  Lacy,  who  did  not  wish  to 
bring  the  black  man  into  trouble  for  being  accessory  to  the 
secret  having  escaped — "  but  I  know  he's  here." 

'"Pon  my  honor!"  said  De  Welskein,  theatrically,  and 
laying  his  hand  on  the  place  where  his  heart  ought  to  have 
been. 

"  Search  the  boat ! "  said  the  captain,  sternly,  to  a 
couple  of  his  men  who  were  on  the  deck  beside  him. 

De  Welskein  took  off  his  hat  with  a  prodigious  air  to 
the  captain,  and  said,  "  Monsieur  should  consider  I  am 
commander  here." 

The  captain  laughed  at  his  swagger  ;  but  seeing  that 
several  desperate-looking  fellows  crowded  round  the 
hatches  as  if  to  prc^'int  the  search  the  captain  ordered— 


RDRY  O'MORE.  273 

for  ne  had  but  half  a  dozen  men  with  him,  and  the  lUgger 
was  armed  and  powerfully  manned — he  said  in  a  decided 
tone  to  De  Welskein,  "  You  are  under  the  guns  of  my 
fr.gate  :  give  up  the  man  you  have  concealed,  or  you  shall 
be  sunk  like  a  nutshell !  " 

De  Welskein  saw  there  was  nothing  else  for  it,  but  told 
De  Lacy  he  considered  it  not  treating  him  with  the  respect 
one  gentleman  owed  another^  to  interfere  in  such  a  manner 
with  his  affairs. 

De  Lacy  could  only  laugh  at  his  impertinence. 

De  Welskein  fell  back  from  his  dignity  upon  his  true  re- 
source— impudence  and  reviling — and  swore  he  was  very 
sorry  he  took  De  Lacy  out  of  Ireland,  and  saved  his  neclv, 
and  so  cheated  the  gallows  of  its  due.  "  But  the  next  tim^i 
you  want  me,  you'll  find  me — if  you  can!"  said  De  Wel- 
skein, strutting  back  to  the  stern  of  his  boat,  while  Ror-/- 
was  walked  up  the  fore-hatchway  ! 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  scene  that  fol. 
lowed,  for  Rory's  wild  delight  at  seeing  De  Lacy  and  find- 
ing himself  out  of  De  Welskein"s  power  is  past  description. 
De  Welskein  stamped  up  and  down  one  end  of  the  deck, 
while  Rory  danced  on  the  other.  The  French  captai'i 
looked  amazed  when  he  remembered  that  De  Lacy  called 
this  man  his  friend,  and  supposing  that  none  except  ager-- 
tleman  could  be  De  Lacy's  friend,  he  turned  to  him  and 
said,  with  the  extreme  of  wonder  in  the  tone  of  his  voice, 
"  Are  all  the  Irish  gentlemen  like  him  ?  " 

"  I  wish  they  were,"  said  De  Lacy. 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 


Containing  Many  Sapient  Observations  on  Frenchmen  and  Frigates,  Eng. 
lish  Subjects,  Foreigners,  etc. 

When  the  captain  had  sufficiently  satisfied  his  wonder  in 
looking  at  Rory's  vagaries,  he  ordered  a  return  to  the  frig- 
ate. With  what  delight  did  our  hero  jump  into  the  bon  t 
of  tlie  Coquette  ! — though  he  lost  his  footing  when  he 
alighted  there,  and  broke  his  shins  as  he  stumbled  over 
her  thwarts.  "  Bad  luck  to  thim  for  boats  and  ships  !  " 
said  Rory  ;  "  a  man  ought  to  have  the  legs  of  a  cat,  to 
keep  his  feet  in  thim."     One  of  the  sailors  caught  hold  of 


274  RORY   O'MORE. 

liim,  as  he  feared  Rory  would  go  overboard  from  the  roclo 
ing  he  caused  in  the  boat,  and  desired  him  to  sit  down. 

"  What's  that  you  say  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  Asseyez-vous" 

"You  say  what?" 

The  sailor  again  spoke  ;  and  Rory  called  out  to  De  Lacy, 
who  was  coming  over  the  side  of  the  lugger  :  "  Arrah, 
thin,  will  you  tell  me  what  this  fellow  is  sthriving  to  say 
to  me  ?  for  the  divil  a  word  he  spakes  I  can  make  out; 
and  my  heart's  broke  with  my  shins,  that  I  cut  over  thim 
dirty  little  sates." 

"He's  bidding  you  sit  down,"  said  De  Lacy,  "and  do 
so,  or  you  may  go  overboard." 

"  Oh,  that  indeed  !  "  said  Rory,  sitting  down.  "  Sure, 
if  he  told  me  that  at  wanst,  I'd  ha'  done  it  ;  but  he  wint 
jabberin'  and  mumblin',  that  I  couldn't  make  him  out." 

"  You  forget  he's  a  Frenchman,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"That's  thrue,  indeed,  sir,"  said  Rory  ;  "  and  it's  wondher- 
ful  how  hard  it  is  for  these  furriners  to  make  themselves 
undherstud." 

The  boat  was  now  pushed  off  ;  and  Rory  looked  up  at 
De  Welskein,  who  stood  in  an  attitude  of  theatrical  de- 
fiance, frowning  over  the  quarter  at  the  whole  boat's  crew. 
Rory  took  off  his  hat,  and,  with  a  mocking  salutation  to 
the  smuggler,  shouted  out  :  "  Good-morning  to  you,  Mr. 
Pivilskin." 

De  Welskein  wrapped  himself  up  in  the  dignity  of 
silence,  and  scowled  after  the  barge,  as  she  cleft  the 
waters,  and  cast  a  silvery  ripple  behind  her,  in  her  course 
to  the  frigate,  toward  which  the  men  pulled  swiftly  ;  and 
«very  bound  she  made  to  the  strokes  of  the  bargemen 
seemed  to  excite  Rory's  wonder,  until  he  said  to  De  Lacy  : 
"  What  a  lively  craythur  she  is  !  One  'ud  think  she  was 
alive  almost,  she  jumps  so  sprightly  !  " 

"Wait  till  you  get  on  board  the  frigate,  Rory,"  said 
De  Lacy  ;  "that's  what  will  surprise  you." 

"  Faith,  I've  been  surprised  enough  where  I  was,  and  I 
don't  want  any  more  of  the  same.  I  thought  I'd  be  turned 
inside  out  fairly  ;  and  I  suppose  if  I  was  so  bad  in  a 
small  ship  like  owld  Divilskin's,  that  a  big  one  would  kill 
me  intirely." 

De  Lacy  assured  him  to  the  contrary,  and  as  they  ap- 
proached the  ship  of  war,  pointed  out  to  Rory  her  noble 
form  and  fine  proportions,  her  graceful  bows,  her  spread- 
ing yards,  her  towering  masts,  and  the  beautiful  and  in- 


RORY  O'MORE.  275 

tricate  tracery  of  her  various  cordage.  "Is  she  not  a 
beauty,  Rory  ? " 

*'  Divil  a  beauty  I  can  see  in  her,  nor  in  one  like  her ! " 
said  Rory ;  "  for  afther  the  tattherin'  and  tarin'  I  got 
comin'  over  the  say,  I'll  never  say  a  good  word  for  a  ship 
as  long  as  I  live — and  indeed  that  wouldn't  be  long  if  I 
was  to  be  on  boord  ;  and  I  hope,  Mr.  De  Lacy,  it's  not 
goin'  you  are  to  take  up  with  the  sayfarin'  business." 

"  No,  no,  Rory  ;  don't  be  afraid  ;  I'm  only  going  to  dine 
on  board  the  frigate  with  my  friend  here,  who  is  her  cap- 
tain, and  at  night  we'll  go  ashore." 

"  On  the  land  is  it  ?  "  Oh,  God  be  praised  !  but  it's  I'll 
be  glad." 

"  In  the  meanw^hile,  Rory,  you  will  have  time  to  tell  me 
how  it  came  to  pass  that  you  were  on  board  the  lugger." 

"  Not  wuth  my  own  will,  faith,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  I  thought  as  much  ;  and  was  it  De  Welskein's  doing  ?" 

"  Throth,  I  don't  know — it  was  among  thim  all — but 
you  see  I  had  the  misfortune  to  come  across  that  dirty 
bcrubbs,  and " 

''  Stop,  Rory,"  said  De  Lacy  ;  "here  we  are  at  the  ship's 
pide — you  must  give  me  your  story  in  full  when  we  get 
aboard." 

On  reaching  the  deck  of  the  frigate,  Rory's  wonder  was 
immense  ;  the  height  of  her  masts,  the  mazes  of  her  rig- 
ging, her  great  size,  and  her  rows  of  guns,  were,  succes- 
sively, objects  of  wonder  to  him,  and  a  tap  on  the  shoulder 
from  De  Lacy  was  required  to  arouse  him  from  his  state 
of  entrancement. 

"Well,  by  gor !  it  is  wondherful,"  said  Rory;  "I  own 

it." 

"  You  shall  see  all  the  wonders  of  a  ship  of  war  by  and 
by,"  said  De  Lacy  ;  "  but  for  the  present  follow  me  to  the 
cabin,  and  tell  me  all  the  details  of  this  strange  adventure 
of  yours,  w^hich  has  carried  5'ou  over  seas." 

Rory  followed  him  below,  and  related,  at  length,  the 
particulars  of  his  meeting  with  Scrubbs — his  becoming  his 
guide,  his  freeing  De  Welskein  and  his  party  from  the 
vault,  and  their  capture  of  the  collector  and  himself. 

"And  is  Scrubbs  a  prisoner  on  board  the  lugger?" 

"  Snug,"  said  Rory. 

"  And  do  you  know  why  all  this  has  been  done  ?" 

*'  Not  a  one  o'  me  knows  a  word  about  it  more  than  I 
!;owld  you." 

'•I'm  sorry  all  this  has  occurred  ;  I'm  afraid  it  may  da 


276  RORY  O'MORE. 

mischief  in  Ireland.  That  such  a  rascal  as  the  smuggle! 
should  dare  to  interfere  in  such  matters  ! — 'tis  too  bad. 
I'm  very,  very  sorry  for  this." 

"  So  am  I,  faith,"  said  Rory  ;  "  and  my  heart's  brakin' 
to  think  what  the  poor  mother  and  Mary  will  suffer,  not 
knowin'  one  word  about  what's  become  o'  me." 

"  This  collector  being  taken  away  will  make  a  great 
noise,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Faix,  he  made  a  great  noise  himself  when  they  wor 
takin'  him  away.  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do  about 
him,  sir  ? " 

"  Nothing  ;  it  is  not  for  him  I  care,  but  for  the  mischief 
his  disappearance  will  produce.  But  since  they  have 
taken  him  away,  the  matter  is  as  bad  as  it  can  be,  for  his 
being  restored  would  not  mend  the  matter  ;  so  they  may 
do  what  they  please  with  him.  But  I  want  to  consult 
with  my  friend  here,  Rory,  about  the  best  way  of  provid- 
ing for  your  removal  on  shore." 

"  Sure  you  wouldn't  send  me  on  shore,  sir,  without  you 
were  comin'  too  !  Faith,  I'd  rather  stay  at  say  with  you, 
bad  as  it  is,  than  be  on  land  without  you." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  make  a  separation  between  us,  Rory," 
said  De  Lacy  :  "  but,  remember  that  we  are  on  the  shores 
of  France,  and  your  being  a  stranger,  and  particularly  an 
English  subject " 

"  Is  it  Pie  an  English  subject  ?  " 

"Yes,  are  you  not  so  ?" 

"  By I'm  not !     I'm  an  Irishman,  glory  be  to  God ! " 

"Well,  you're  a  foreigner  at  all  events." 

"Afurriner!  is  it  me  a  furriner  ! — arrali  ! — -Misther  De 
Lacy,  what  do  you  mane  at  all?  Sure  you  know  Vm  an 
Irishman,  and  no  furriner." 

"You  are  a  foreigner  here." 

"'Faith,  I'm  not  ;  it's  tkim  that's  furriners." 

"Well,  you're  a  stranger,  at  least." 

"That  I'll  own  to." 

"  Well,  as  a  stranger  in  this  country,  it  is  necessary  to 
contrive  some  means  of  protection  for  you." 

"Why,  do  you  think  I'm  afeard  ? — is  it  afeard  of  a 
parcel  o'  little  Frinchmin  I'd  be  ?  " 

"Oh,  they  are   not  so  little,  Rory." 

"  Well,  big  or  little,  I  don't  value  them  a  thraneen." 

"  I  know  you're  not  afraid  of  any  man,  Rory,  but  the 
protection  of  which  I  speak  is  regarding  your  legal  safetj 
--•for  there  are  such  things  as  laws,  Rory." 


RORY  0\MORE.  i-j^j 

'  Divil  sweep  thim  for  laws ! — they're  always  givin'  peo- 
ple throuble,  sir." 

"  That  cannot  be  helped,  Rory.  The  captain  and  I  must 
consult  on  the  management  of  this  affair,  and  in  the  mean- 
time I  will  put  you  into  the  hands  of  a  person  who  will 
show  you  all  the  wonders  of  the  ship  ;  and  as  you  have 
never  been  on  board  a  man-of-war  it  will  amuse  you." 

Rory,  accordingly,  was  intrusted  to  a  person  whom  the 
captain  ordered  to  the  cabin,  and  to  whose  care  Rory  was 
especially  intrusted. 

"You   have  no   notion,  Gustave,"    said   De  Lacy  to  his        ' 
friend,  when  they  were  tcte-a-tcte,    "what  a  fine  fellow  that 
is  ! — full  of  address,  of  courage,  and  fidelity,  with  a  love  of 
country  and  a  devotion  to  its  cause  worthy  of  a  hero  ;  and 
yet  he  is  but  a  simple  Irish  peasant." 

"And  are  they  all  like  him  ?  " 

*^  He  is  a  specimen  of  the  best,"  said  De  Lacy;  "but,  ji 
tave  them  all  in  all,  they  arc  a  very  superior  people.  And 
yev  the  Helot  of  the  Spartan  was  not  a  more  degraded  slave 
thi*n  the  poor  Irish  peasant  is  made  by  his  task-masters — ■ 
worse  than  the  Helot  ;  for  he  was  a  slave  by  the  law  of  the 
land,  and  the  law  which  was  cruel  enough  to  make  him  so 
was  at  least  honest  enough  to  avow  it  ;  but  the  poor  Irish- 
man is  mocked  with  the  name  of  freeman — while  the  laws 
of  the  land  are  not  the  same  for  him  as  for  his  more  favored 
fellow-subjects." 

"'That  will  soon  be  mended,"  said  the  captain,  "when 
the  expedition  is  ready." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  you  say,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  that 
there  is  some  appearance  of  action  going  forward." 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  bustle  in  the  marine,  at  least," 
said  Gustave  ;  "  and  some  of  our  best  line-of-battle  are  fit- 
ting out  in  other  ports,  I  understand." 

"  Good  !  "  said  De  Lacy.  "  I  must  hasten  to  Paris,  to 
lay  before  the  Directory  my  report  of  the  state  of  Ireland, 
as  well  as  for  some  more  tender  affairs  than  armaments  and 
invasions." 

"  Ha,  ha  !     Pour  les  beaux yeux  de  Mademoiselle^ 

"  Certainly." 

"  Nothing  like  it  !  "  said  Gustave  ;  "  love  and  war  for- 
ever  ! 

"  A  charming  creature,  Gustave  !  Do  you  remember 
Adele  Verbigny  ?  " 

*'  Adele  Verbigny  ?"  said  the  officer,  repeating  the  name 
;n  a  tone  that  was  not  pleasing  to  De  Lacy. 


^73  RORY  O'MORE. 

"  Why  do  you  echo  the  name  so  ?"  asked  the  lover. 

"  Merely  from  surprise,"  said  the  captain — "  for  I  did  not 
know  you  were  tender  in  that  quarter." 

De  Lacy  said  no  more  on  the  subject  of  his  love,  for  there 
was  something  in  the  manner  of  his  friend  when  he  spoke 
of  it  that  he  liked  not — too  slight  for  words  to  define,  but 
which  the  delicate  perceptions  of  the  lover  are  ever  alive 
to,  as  gunpowder  to  the  spark.  Instead,  therefore,  of  pur- 
suing the  tender  topic,  De  Lacy  consulted  with  the  naval 
officer  the  best  means  of  securing  Rory's  safety  when  he 
should  go  ashore.  "  If  he  were  near  my  own  regiment," 
said  De  Lacy,  "  I  could  manage  it  well  enough,  by  enroll- 
ing him  in  it  ;  but  as  it  is " 

"Leave  that  to  me,"  said  the  sailor  ;  ^^MyoiCre  not  with 
your  regiment,  I'm  on  board  my  ship,  and  can  arrange  the 
matter  for  you." 

"  I  can't  let  him  remain  here,  tnonami — thanks  to  you  for 
your  offer  of  protection,  but  I  know  it  would  grieve  him 
to  be  parted  from  me." 

"  I  don't  mean  him  to  be  separated  from  his  friend,"  said 
the  captain.  "  He  shall  have  a  sailor's  dress,  and  a  dis- 
charge from  my  ship  as  if  he  had  been  one  of  the  crew  ; 
and  that  will  be  protection  sufficient." 

*'  Good,"  said  De  Lacy  ;  "  nothing  can  be  better."  And 
the  captain  gave  orders  for  a  suit  of  sailor's  clothing  to  be 
provided  for  Rory. 

He  in  the  meantime  was  being  conducted  over  the  ship 
by  the  captain's  appointed  guide,  who  spoke  some  half- 
dozen  words  of  English,  which  he  made  go  as  far  as  he 
could  with  Rory  ;  but  that  was  not  half  enough,  for  the  in- 
quisitive spirit  which  prompted  his  numerous  questions 
was  an  overmatch  for  the  English  of  his  cicerone.  Whenever 
Rory  could  not  get  an  answer  from  him,  he  asked  anyone 
else  who  was  near  him  ;  and  the  strange  position  in  which 
he  found  himself,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  among  his 
own  species,  yet  without  means  of  communing  with  them, 
bothered  Rory  excessively  ;  when  he  found  English  fail,  he 
tried  Irish,  which  was  equally  unsuccessful  ;  but  still  Rory 
did  not  give  up  the  point — when  English  and  Irish  failed, 
he  employed  signs,  and  he  and  the  Frenchman  became  mu- 
tually pleased  with  each  other's  expertness  in  pantomime. 

On  Rory's  return  to  the  cabin,  De  Lacy  questioned  him 
as  to  his  tour  round  the  ship,  with  which  Rory  declared 
himself  to  be  much  delighted. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it  before,  Rory  ? " 


R<DRY  O'MORE.  279 

"  Nothin',  sir — barrin'  a  bee-hive." 

"  How  the  deuce  can  you  liken  a  frigate  to  a  bee-hive  ?" 

"  Bekaze  every  corner  of  it  is  made  use  of,  and  there's 
sitch  a  power  o  people  in  it,  and  everybody  busy." 

"Well  done,  Rory  !  you've  made  out  your  simile,  and  you 
might  carry  it  still  further  ;  they  can  sting  sometimes,  and 
are  often  killed  by  the  burning  of  brimstone." 

"'Faith,  an'  you're  right  enough,  sir,  about  the  Frinch- 
man  not  bein'  sitch  little  chaps  as  I  thought  they  wor." 

"  You  have  seen  some  good  stout  fellows  on  board  this 
ship,  then  ?" 

"  'Pon  my  conscience,  very  dacent  boys  ;  and  the  cap- 
tain, there,  is  not  an  ill-looking  man  at  all." 

"What  does  he  say  of  me  ?"  asked  the  commander,  who 
perceived  by  Rory's  expression  of  eye  that  he  alluded  to 
him. 

De  Lacy  repeated  to  him  exactly  Rory's  speech,  and  the 
captain  enjoyed  it  extremely. 

"  Then  the  French,"  continued  De  Lacy,  "  are  not  ex- 
sictly  what  you  conceived  them  to  be,  Rory  ?" 

"No,  in  troth;  I  always  thought,  and  I  dunna  w^hy, 
but  I  always  ^/^  think  that  Frinchmin  was  dirty,  starved 
ottomies — poor  little  yellow  go-to-the-grounds,  not  the  half 
of  a  man,  but  a  sort  of  a  spidliogiie." 

"  And  what's  a  spidhogue,  Rory  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  can't  well  explain  to  you  ;  only,  whenever  one 
comes  across  a  poor  ill-begotten  starved  spidher  of  a  cray- 
*hur,  we  call  him  a  spidhogue." 

The  captain  was  much  amused  on  hearing  of  Rory's 
preconceived  notions  of  Frenchmen,  and  his  surprise  at 
seeing  them  other  than  he  thought  them  ;  and  he  requested 
De  Lacy  to  interpret  to  him  the  most  of  his  colloquy  with 
the  Irishman. 

The  day  was  passed  pleasantly  enough  to  all  parties  on 
board  the  frigate  ;  and  toward  evening  De  Lacy,  accom- 
panied by  Rory,  attired  in  a  sailor's  dress,  was  rowed 
ashore,  where  the  shelter  of  a  quiet  inn  was  sought  for  the 
night,  and  the  next  morning  De  Lacy,  obtaining  passports 
for  himself  and  Rory,  set  out  for  Paris. 

Rory's  thousand  and  one  strange  observations,  as  they 
proceeded,  often  raised  a  smile  on  the  lip  of  De  Lacy,  who, 
nevertheless,  fell  into  trains  of  musing  as  he  drew  nearer 
to  his  Adele  and  conjured  up  anticipations  of  their  meet- 
ing. But,  mingling  in  all  these  dreams  was  the  remem- 
brance of  the  voice  of  his  friend  Gustave  as  he  spoke  of 


28o  J^ORY   CMORE. 

her  ,  the  tone  in  which  he  echoed  the  name  of  Adele  dvve^,'! 
upon  his  fancy  and  seemed  of  evil  omen  ;  it  was  the  hooi^ 
of  the  owl  from  the  turret  of  his  hopes. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Cupid  in  Paris, 

Rochefoucauld  lays  it  down  in  his  maxims  that : 

"  On  garde  long-temps  son  premier  amant  quand  on  n'en  prend  pas  >■« 

second." 

Which  may  be  Xhxxs  freely  translated  : 

"  Your  first  love  most  precious  is  reckoned 
Until  you  have  taken  a  second.'' 

And  the  same  thing  might  be  said  of  a  glass  of  claret  ; 
the  best  judges  of  that  cool  and  gentlemanly  beverage  de 
daring  you  cannot  get  the  taste  of  it  under  half  a  dozen. 
Whether  the  comparison  holds  between  fits  of  love  and. 
glasses  of  claret  as  far  as  the  half-dozen,  I  leave  to  personal 
more  conversant  with  the  subject,  and  better  able  to  ^^ 
cide. 

The  keen  and  sarcastic  Rochefoucauld  wrote  maxims  ot 
which  the  world  has  taken  great  pains  to  prove  the  truth. 
Whether  Adele  Verbigny  was  profound  in  the  "  moral  re- 
flections" of  the  witty  duke,  is  little  matter;  but  if  she 
were  not,  then  with  her,  intuition  superseded  study. 

When  Horace  De  Lacy  left  Paris  for  Ireland,  pretty 
little  Adele  thought  of  him  a  good  deal  for  some  time 
after,  and  even  engaged  on  a  piece  of  elaborate  needlework 
to  enscroll  his  name  ;  which  work,  I  believe,  was  then 
called  "  tambour."  Perhaps  I  am  wrong — but,  at  all  events, 
tambour  work  would  have  been  very  appropriate  in  any 
complimentary  tribute  to  a  soldier's  name.  But,  whatever 
it  was  called,  the  work  was  begun  ;  and  Adele  used  to  sit 
for  hours  and  hours  together,  surrounded  with  long  skeins 
of  silk  of  all  manner  of  colors,  and  beads  of  all  manner  of 
sizes,  and  gold  thread,  and  Lord  knows  what  else  besides, 
and  there  was  a  certain  laurel  wreath  to  encompass  a 
scroll  of  the  three  letters  sbe  valued  most  in  the  whole 
alphabet,  namely,  H.  D.  L. — they  were  the   initial  letters 


RORY   O'MORE.  ol%\ 

of  her  hero's  name  ;  and,  with  a  nice  little  bit  of  French 
and  female  ingenuity  she  contemplated  the  interweaving 
of  smaller  letters  after  each  initial,  to  express,  as  it  were, 
the  attributes  of  her  lover  ;  so  that  the  work,  when  fin- 
ished, would  give  to  those  who  would  be  at  the  trouble  of 
hunting  the  involved  sentence  through  all  its  twistings  and 
twinings,  these  words  : 

HoNNEUR.  Devotion.  L'amour. 

She  was  enchanted  at  the  thought,  and  worked  very  in- 
dustriously for  three  weeks  j  but  as  she  got  on  at  the  rate 
of  about  half  a  laurel  leaf  a  day,  there  was  a  good  chance 
that  a  real  tree  might  be  grown  in  the  time  it  would  take 
to  make  the  needlework  chaplet.  Nevertheless,  on  she 
went  ;  and  though  the  canvas  in  the  centre  of  her  design 
was  vacant,  her  imagination  filled  up  the  space  in  the  most 
beautiful  colors,  and  twistings,  and  curvetings  that  needle 
or  fancy  had  ever  worked  or  conceived,  and  she  looked 
forward  to  the  pleasure  of  interlacing  H.  D.  L.  in  some 
months,  and  having  the  work  ready  to  exhibit  to  her  lover 
on  his  return.  As  she  worked  her  web,  she  thought  of 
Penelope  and  Ulysses  ;  but,  alas  !  she  and  De  Lacy  were 
not  married  yet ;  and  moreover,  there  were  no  lovers  to 
come  and  tease  her  from  her  fidelity.  Now,  although  the 
first  part  of  the  comparison  did  not  exist  between  her  and 
Horace,  the  second  part  might  ;  and  Adele  was  such  a 
classic  creature,  that  she  almost  wished  to  have  the  temp- 
tation of  a  lover,  that  she  might  enjoy  the  triumph  of 
fidelity. 

It  was  too  charming  a  thought  not  to  be  put  into  execu- 
tion, and  Adele  got  herself  up  in  the  character  of  Penel- 
ope. 

Among  those  who  indulged  her  in  her  classic  whim  was 
one  who  was  a  great  admirer  of  tambour-work  ;  and, 
moreover,  he  could  thread  her  needles  admirably.  This 
saved  Adele  time,  and  drew  her  nearer  to  the  delightful 
period  when  she  might  commence  the  initial  scroll  of 
H.  D.  L.  Then  he  sung  very  pretty  chansonnettes ;  and 
they  were  so  lively,  that  Adele's  little  fingers  moved  more 
rnerrily  to  the  measure  and  facilitated  her  work  prodi- 
giously. They  got  on  famously.  Adele  could  not  be  so 
ungenerous  as  not  to  give  a  song  sometimes  in  return  ; 
but  hers  were  always  in  the  tender  line,  as  they  ought 
to  have  been,  because  Horace  was  away.     There  was  no 


287  RORY   O'MORE. 

unbecoming  levity  about  them — something  in  the  simple 
and  tender  style  of 

"Oiseaux,  tendre  Zephire, 
Voulez-vous  bien  me  dire 
La  cause  de  mes  soupirs  ?  " 

— to  say  nothing  of  the  politeness  of  "  Voulez-vous  bien'* 
to  the  birds. 

Well,  Hippolyte  Delier — for  that  was  the  name  of  the 
needle-threader — thought  the  tender  songs  of  Adele  faf 
more  beautiful  than  his  lively  chatisonnettes,  and  so  he  took 
to  the  oiseaux  and  te?idre  Zephire  style,  and  Adele  declared 

"She  liked  him  still  better  in  that  than  his  own." 

And  a  thought  occurred  to  them  then,  which  they  both 
were  surprised  did  not  occur  to  them  sooner,  which  was, 
that  their  voices  would  go  so  well  together :  and  so  they 
took  to  singing  duets — and  very  nicely  they  did  them. 

All  this  time  the  embroidery  went  on,  and  one  day  the 
threads  got  entangled  underneath  the  work,  and  Hippolyte 
was  asked  for  a  helping  hand  to  assist  in  disengaging 
them  :  and  in  doing  so,  their  hands  came  in  contact  under 
the  frame  very  often,  and  Adele  never  remarked  before 
what  a  very  soft,  nice  hand  Hippolyte  possessed  ;  and, 
somehow  or  other,  the  work  was  in  such  terrible  entangle- 
ment, that  their  hands  went  on  poking  and  pulling  for 
some  minutes  without  the  extrication  of  either  the  threads 
or  their  fingers,  till  at  last  Hippolyte  fairly  caught  hold  of 
Adele's  hand  and  gave  it  a  tender  pressure  utider  the  frame, 
while  his  eyes  met  hers  over  it.  And  very  pretty  eyes  Hip- 
polyte had — and,  indeed,  so  had  Adele,  to  do  her  justice  ; 
and,  with  a  look  of  the  sweetest  reproof,  she  said,  '■^  Fi, 
done  !  "  But  it  was  singular,  from  that  day  forth,  how  pro- 
vokingly  frequent  the  entanglement  of  threads  became, 
and  how  often  Hippolyte  was  called  on  to  assist  in  dis- 
engaging them. 

What  could  come  of  poor  De  Lacy  having  such  a  help- 
ing hand  given  to  his  piece  of  embroidery  ?  Why,  that 
Adele  found  there  was  not  room  for  three  letters  in  the 
centre  of  her  laurel  wreath  ;  and  so,  instead  of  H.  D.  L., 
she  could  only  entwine  H.  D.  How  singular  they  were 
the  initials  of  Hippolyte  Delier  ! 

They  could  not  help  remarking  the  coincidence,  and  the 
singularity  too  of  his  name,  Delier,  and  he  so  clever  ia 


RORY  O'MORE.  283 

unloosing  entanglements.  ^'Helasf"  said  Adele,  senti- 
mentally, "you  have  united  more  than  threads,"  as  Hip- 
polyte  knelt  before  her  and  declared  himself  her  adorer. 

Madame  Verbigny  was  of  the  same  opinion  as  hei 
daughter  in  the  business  ;  for  Hippolyte  was  on  the  spot, 
and  De  Lacy  was  absent : 

"  Les  absens  ont  toujours  tort." 

Besi<^'5s,  De  Lacy  might  be  killed,  and  Adele  lose  a  match 
in  refusing  Hippolyte,  who,  as  far  as  matches  were  con- 
cerned in  another  point  of  view,  was  a  better  one  than  De 
Lacy,  for  he  had  a  strong  friend  in  the  Directory,  and  was 
looking  forward  to  promotion  beyond  his  present  position, 
w^iich  was,  even  at  the  moment,  one  more  advantageous 
than  that  of  a  captain  of  grenadiers. 

So  Hippolyte  was  received  as  a  declared  lover,  and  was 
sitting  with  the  faithful  Adele  a  few  days  before  their" 
marriage,  when,  to  Adele's  unutterable  surprise,  the  door 
of  the  chamber  opened  and  De  Lacy  rushed  toward  her 
with  extended  arms. 

Adele  screamed  and  fainted,  and  the  two  gentlemen  did 
all  gentlemen  could  do  to  restore  her.  While  in  her  state 
of  insensibility  (feigned  or  real),  the  bearing  of  Hippolyte 
was  such  as  to  make  De  Lacy  wish  he  would  not  take  so 
much  trouble  ;  and  the  sound  of  his  friend  Gustave's  voice 
crossed  his  memory  like  an  echo  from  the  nether  world. 

The  first  object  that  met  Adele's  opening  eyes  was  De 
Lacy  kneeling  beside  her. 

"  Adele — my  own  Adele  !  "  said  the  soldier. 

"  How  altered  you  are  ! "  said  Adele,  looking  coldly  on 
his  face. 

"  Altered  !  "  echoed  De  Lacy.  "  Good  Heaven  !  Adele, 
are  you  altered  ?  " 

"  What  a  fright  the  small-pox  has  made  of  you  !  "  said 
the  Parisian. 

De  Lacy  felt  as  though  a  bolt  of  ice  had  been  shot 
through  him,  and  gazing  upon  the  woman  he  adored,  with 
a  look  that  might  have  made  the  most  callous  feel,  he  was 
about  to  speak  ;  but  he  had  only  uttered  her  name,  when 
Adele  thought  the  safest  game  to  play  was  another  faint, 
and  screaming  as  gracefully  as  she  could,  she  dropped  off 
again  into  speechlessness.  Her  mother  came  to  the  rescue, 
and  declared  the  poor  child's  feelings  would  be  the  death 
of  her  some  time  or  other. 


284  RORY  O'MORE. 

"Monsieur,"  said  she  to  Hippolyte,  "be  so  good  as  to 
Lake  care  of  her  a  few  minutes,  while  I  speak  to  this  gen- 
tleman ;  "  and  she  beckoned  De  Lacy  from  the  room. 

What  their  conversation  was,  it  is  needless  to  record  ; 
but  Rory  O'More  remarked  on  De  Lacy's  return  to  the 
hotel  that  his  aspect  betrayed  deep  dejection  ;  while  min- 
gling with  the  sadness,  traces  of  fierce  determination  were 
visible.  The  eye  was  clouded  and  the  cheek  was  pale  ; 
but  the  knitted  brow  and  compressed  lips  betokened  a 
spirit  brooding  over  more  than  melancholy  thoughts. 

Rory  could  not  repress  his  anxiety,  and  when  De  Lacv 
had  closed  the  door  of  his  chamber,  asked  him  what  was 
the  matter. 

De  Lacy  drew  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  and  paced 
up  and  down  the  room. 

"  I  hope  there's  nothin'  found  out,  sir?"  said  Rory. 

"  Found  out !  "  said  De  Lacy.  "  Yes,  Rory,  I  have  found 
out  something  !  "  and  he  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"  Tare  an  ouns  !  I  hope  they're  not  angry  wid  you  for 
bringin'  me  up  here !  Sure,  if  they  wor,  I'd  quit  this 
minit." 

"  No,  Rory,  no.  Ask  me  no  more  now  ;  'tis  only  some 
private  grievance  of  my  own." 

"  Bad  luck  to  them  for  fretting  you,  and  you  com?n'  all 
this  way  to  see  thim  !  and  won't  they  come  over  to  help 
us,  afther  all  ?  " 

"You'll  knov/  more  to-morrow,  Rory  ;  leave  me  for  to- 
night. Be  stirring  early  to-morrow  morning,  for  I  shall 
want  you." 

Rory  left  the  room  puzzled  and  unsatisfied. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Showing  how  New  Enemies  Arise  out  of  Old  Lovers. 

The  last  chapter  began  with  a  maxim  ;  and  for  fear  one 
chapter  should  be  jealous  of  another,  this  shall  be  headed 
with  a  maxim  also  : 

When  a  Gentleman  is  Robbed  of  His  Heart's  Treasure,  the  Least  and  also 
the  Greatest  Satisfaction  He  can  Enjoy,  is  to  Have  a  Shot  at  th« 
Fellow  who  Robs  Him. 

And  that  is  as  good  a  maxim  as  ever  Rochefoucauld 
wrote- 


K'ORY  O'MORE.  285 

Now  De  Lacy  could  not  have  a  shot  at  Hippolyte,  be- 
cause pistols  were  not  the  fashion  in  Paris  in  those  days  for 
the  settling  of  such  affairs  ;  but  he  might  run  him  through 
the  body  with  steel  instead  of  lead  ;  and  this  difference  in 
the  exchange  of  the  metallic  currency  in  honorable  com- 
merce makes  no  difference  in  the  satisfaction  which  gentle- 
men either  give  or  take  in  such  transactions. 

On  leaving  the  house  of  his  false  fair  one,  De  Lacy  pro- 
ceeded to  find  a  friend  to  whom  he  might  intrust  the 
business  of  inviting  Monsieur  Hippolyte  Delier  to  take  a 
morning  walk  in  the  environs  of  the  Place  Louis  Ouinze  : 
and  there  was  little  difficulty  in  the  search,  for  chance  threw 
in  his  way  a  brother  officer  who  undertook  the  duty  with 
alacrity.  The  meeting  was  arranged,  and  the  next  morn- 
ing De  Lacy's  friend  called  upon  him  on  his  way  to  the 
place  of  rendezvous. 

"  Why  have  you  this  strange-looking  sailor  in  attendance 
on  you  ?  "  said  Captain  Sangchaud,  as  he  looked  at  Rorv 
in  wonder  when  they  turned  into  the  street. 

De  Lacy  explained  to  his  friend  who  Rory  was,  and  whv 
he  bore  the  habit  of  a  sailor.  "And  my  object  in  making 
him  accompany  us  is,  that  in  case  I  should  fall,  I  enjoin 
you,  Sangchaud,  by  our  companionship  in  arms,  to  take 
care  of  him  ;  and  if  you  cannot  get  him  back  to  Ireland, 
have  him  with  you  in  your  own  regiment- — and  a  finer  f*»l- 
low  you  have  never  known  in  your  experience." 

On  getting  a  view  of  the  Tuileries  Rory,  who  did  not 
interrupt  the  conversation  hitherto,  could  not  resist  asking 
De  Lacy  what  was  the  name  of  the  building. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Misther  De  Lacy,  but  whose  house 
is  that  ?" 

"  That  was  the  king's  house,  Rory — and  called  the  Tuil- 
eries ;  it  was  a  palace." 

"  A  palace  is  it,  sir  ?  Dear  me  !  what  a  pity  they  stinted 
it!" 

"  Stinted,  Rory  ?   Why,  I  think  'tis  large  enough." 

"Yes,  it's  mighty  big,  but,  sure,  one  'ud  think  a  palace 
would  be  stinted  in  nothing." 

"And  in  what  do  you  think  it  stinted  ?" 

"  Bekaze,  sir,  it  looks  like  as  if  there  was  scarcity  o'  stone 
when  they  built  it,  and  a  great  plenty  o'  wood  and  slates  ; 
for  it's  mostly  roof  and  windows." 

"  Come  on  !  "  said  Sangchaud  ;  "  we  must  be  first  on  the 
ground." 

On  reaching   the   appointed    place,  he  drew   a   pair  0% 


286  RORY  O'MORE. 

swords  from  a  case  which  he  had  carried  under  his  arm 


and  on  seeing  them,  Rory  opened  his  eyes  very  wide,  and 
touching  De  Lacy  on  the  elbow,  he  said,  "  Tare  an  'ouns  ! 
sir,  what  are  you  goin'  to  do  ? " 
,  "  To  fight  a  duel,  Rory." 

/  "A  jewel,  is  it! — to  fight  a   jewel!  and   you  waikin' as 

good  friends  with  the  man  the  minit  before.    Oh,  my  God  !  " 

De  Lacy  could  not  forbear  a  smile  at  Rory's  idea  that  it 
was  with  his  second  he  was  going  to  fight,  and  explained 
the  matter  to  him. 

"  Well,  it  was  no  wondher  I  thought  so,  anyhow,  when  I 
did  not  see  any  one  else  for  you  to  fight  with.  And  what 
are  you  goin'  to  fight  for,  sir,  if  I  might  be  so  bowld  to  ax  ? " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  now,  Rory — but  I  have  brought  you 
with  me  to  put  you  under  the  care  of  my  friend  here.  Cap- 
tain Sangchaud,  who  will  look  to  you  in  case  anything 
happens  to  me." 

"  God  forbid  hurt  or  harm  would  come  to  you,  Misther 
De  Lacy  !  And  to  think  o'  me,  too,  when  your  own  life's 
in  danger.  Oh,  God  bless  you — God  bless  you  ! — you've 
the  kind  heart  and  the  good  heart,  and  divil  a  fear  o'  you 
in  the  fight,  for  the  angels  will  watch  overdye?/,  that  thought 
of  watchin'  over  me  in  the  sthrange  place." 

De  Lacy  turned  aside  to  hide  the  glistening  of  his  eye  at 
the  poor  fellow's  thought. 

"  Feel  this,"  said  Sangchaud,  handing  him  one  of  the 
swords,  "  Do  you  like  it  ?  " 

''  Yes,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  this  will  do — it  is  well  balanced  ; 
the  blade  is  a  little  more  bent  than  I  like." 

"  All  the  better  in  giving  tierce  over  the  arm,"  said  Sang- 
chaud. 

"I  know  'tis  so  considered  by  your  most  accomplished 
swordsmen  ;  but  I  would  rather  have  this,"  said  De  Lacy, 
handling  the  other  sword  and  looking  along  the  blade. 
"  They  are  both  very  good  tools — but  this  for  me." 

**  You're  wrong,"  said  Sangchaud.  "  You  fight  at  a  disad- 
vantage with  it,  in  comparison  to  that  which  I  hold.  How- 
ever, you'll  soon  be  able  to  judge  for  yourself  of  the  one 
you've  got,  for  I  see  our  men  are  coming.  Will  you  have 
the  blade  I  recommend  ? — do." 

"No,"  said  De  Lacy,  "this  is  handier  to  me." 

"  Well,  as  you  like  ;  but  the  other  is  far  more  killing  of 
the  two." 

Hippolyte  and  his  friend  were  soon  on  the  ground,  and 
no  time  was  lost  in  the  parties  engaging.     Rory  was  on  the 


RORY  O'MORE.  287 

alert  all  the  time,  watching  every  thrust  and  parry,  and 
making  exclamations  as  the  various  vicissitudes  of  the  com- 
bat suggested.  Many  a  "  whoo  !  "  and  "  hurroo  "  he  uttered 
vv^henever  he  fancied  his  friend's  adversary  gave  way  !  and, 
at  length,  when  he  saw  him  manifestly  stagger  before  a 
lunge  from  his  foe,  he  shouted,  "  By  the  powers  you're 
into  him  !  " 

Delier  had  received  a  smart  wound  in  the  sword  arm, 
which  rendered  further  fighting  impossible  ;  and  De  Lacy 
and  his  second,  making  a  formal  salute  to  the  discomfited 
party,  left  the  ground. 

"  Long  life  to  you,  sir ! "  said  Rory  ;  "  sure  I  knew 
you'd  get  no  hurt  ;  but,  indeed,  while  you  wor  poking  at 
each  other  with  them  dirty  little  bits  o'  swords,  I  was 
wishin'  it  was  a  taste  o'  blackthorn  you  had  in  your  fist  ; 
for  there's  more  dipindince  in  it  than  in  one  o'  them  little 
skivers." 

"  What !  wood  against  steel,  Rory  !  " 

"Ay,  indeed.  I'd  never  ask  to  ate  another  b?t,  if  I 
wouldn't  give  a  fellow  with  one  o'  them  toasting-forks  as 
fine  a  lickin'  as  ever  he  got,  if  I  had  a  choice  bit  o'  timber 
about  me." 

Sangchaud  all  this  time  was  tying  up  his  swords  ;  and 
when  he  had  done  so,  he  tucked  them  under  his  arm  in  a 
very  business-like  manner,  but  did  not  seem  half  satisfied. 

"  You've  but  a  poor  opinion  of  my  swordsmanship,  I  see, 
Sangchaud,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"No,"  answered  the  captain.  "You  made  some  very 
pretty  passes  and  parries  ;  but  I  wish  your  adversary  had 
taken  a  little  more  away  with  him." 

"  He  has  only  got  a  flesh  wound,  'tis  true,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"Yes,"  said  his  friend,  "and  that's  all  because  you 
wouldn't  fight  with  the  blade  I  recommended.  You  put  in 
your  thrust  very  well  ;  but  that  blade  you  chose  is  the 
least  thought  too  straight  ;  if  it  had  been  the  other,  you'd 
have  been  under  his  ribs." 

"  Perhaps  'tis  better  as  it  is,"  said  De  Lacy  ;  "  I  have  es- 
caped having  a  death  to  answer  for." 

"  Well,  let  us  go  to  breakfast  now,"  said  Sangchaud. 
"  Nothing  gives  a  man  a  better  appetite  than  a  little  morn^ 
ing  exercise  of  this  description." 


388  RORY  O'MORE.  * 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Showing  how  Useful  Old  Love-Letters  are  in  Cold  Weather. 

On  returning  to  his  lodgings  De  Lacy  found  a  parce\ 
directed  to  him  lying  on  his  table  ;  on  breaking  the  sea! 
he  perceived  the  contents  consisted  of  his  letters  to  Adele, 
under  convoy  of  a  note  from  her  mother.  That  philo^ 
sophic  individual  wrote  as  follows  : 

"  Our  affections  are  not  our  own " 

"No,  indeed,"  thought  De  Lacy;  "they  are  anybody's 
who  asks  you  for  them." 

"  My  child  has  been  influenced  by  the  destinies  which 
rule  the  affairs  of  the  heart " 

"  When  people  behave  so  ill  as  to  have  no  other  excuse, 
they  always  lay  the  blame  on  destiny,"  continued  the  lover, 

"  Sentiment  to  a  woman  is  what  honor  is  to  a  man  :  with, 
out  it  life  would  be  worthless. 

"  Permit  me  to  assure  you  of  the  highest  consideration  oi 

"C.  Verbigny." 

"  What  folly  and  falsehood  !  "  exclaimed  De  Lacy,  as  ha 
crushed  the  scroll  in  his  feverish  hand,  and  flung  it  from 
him.  He  then  sat  down,  and  looked  with  mingled  sorrow 
and  humiliation  on  the  pile  of  papers  which  lay  before  him. 
There  is  not  perhaps  anything  in  this  world  produces  u 
more  painful  feeling  than  to  contemplate  the  evidences  of 
our  former  affection  returned  to  us  in  a  moment  of  indif- 
ference :  Cupid  does  not  like  to  eat  his  words  any  more 
than  another  gentleman.  And  in  De  Lacy's  case  it  was 
the  more  galling,  for  he  still  clung  dearly  to  the  memory 
of  his  love,  though  he  loved  no  more.  To  dissever  the  ties 
that  hold  the  heart  leaves  a  pang  behind  long  after  the 
blow  has  fallen  ;  for  with  one's  feelings,  as  with  one's 
nerves,  a  morbid  action  exists  after  amputation.  When  a 
mutual  moldering  of  affection  has  taken  place,  and  such 
tender  mementos  as  love-letters  are  returned,  then,  after 
the  first  gulp  you  make  to  swallow  your  annoyance  or  your 
shame,  you  can  throw  them  into  the  fire  to  feed  other 
flames  than  those  they  were  intended  for  ;  but  where  only 
one  party  is  untrue  how  bitter  are  the  records  of  unrequited 
affection  ! 

Letter  after  letter  De  Lacy  turned  over — and  sometimes, 


RORY  O'MORE.  2S9 

as  a  peculiar  phrase,  or  place  named  met  his  eye,  the  time 
and  the  circumstance  connected  with  them  would  arise  and 
his  young  heart  had  the  bitter  experience  to  see  fancy's 
fond  creations  crumble  before  the  withering  touch  of 
reality.  And  among  these  papers  were  some  poems.  One 
in  particular  caught  his  eye,  it  was  a  metrical  trifle  he  had 
done  in  some  of  his  first  hours  of  courtship,  when,  in  the 
light  badinage  that  is  employed  in  the  earlier  skirmishes 
between  beaus  and  belles,  Adele  answered  a  charge  of  De 
Lacy's  that  she  was  fickle,  by  her  telling  him  that  he  was 
a  rolage,  "  Do  you  not  know,"  said  she,  "  what  the  weather- 
cock said  to  the  wind:  St  vous  ne  changez  pas,  j'e  suis  con- 
•tante  ?  " 

De  Lacy  was  pleased  with  the  conceit,  and  presented 
her  with  a  song  derived  from  the  subject ;  and  there  it  lay 
before  him,  the  evidence  of  his  first  hours  of  love,  surviv- 
'ng  the  passion  whence  it  sprung. 

"THE  WIND  AND  THE  WEATHERCOCK. 

•'The  summer  wind  lightly  was  playing 
Round  the  battlement  high  of  the  tow'r, 
Where  a  vane,  like  a  lady  was  staying — 
A  lady  vane  perched  in  her  bower. 
To  peep  round  the  corner  the  sly  wind  would  try  ; 
But  vanes,  you  know,  never  look  in  the  wind's  eye. 
And  so  she  kept  turning  shyly  away  : 
Thus  they  kept  playing  all  through  the  day. 

"  The  summer  wind  said,  '  She's  coquetting  ; 
But  each  belle  has  her  points  to  be  found  ; 
Before  evening,  I'll  venture  on  betting. 
She  will  not  then  go,  but  come  round.' 
So  he  tried  from  the  east,  and  he  tried  from  the  west. 
And  the  north  and  the  south,  to  try  which  was  best ; 
But  still  she  kept  turning  shyly  away  : 
Thus  they  kept  playing  all  through  the  day. 

*'At  evening,  her  hard  heart  to  soften, 
He  said  'You're  a  flirt,  I  am  sure  ; 
But  if  vainly  you're  changing  so  often, 
No  lover  you'll  ever  secure.' 
'  Sweet  sir, '  said  the  vane,  '  it  is  you  who  begin  ; 
V^hen  you  change  so  often,  in  me  'tis  no  sin. 
If  you  cease  to  flutter,  and  steadily  sigh. 
And  only  be  constant — I  am  sure  so  will  I.'  " 

"  She  hath  reversed  the  image,"  thought  De  Lacy,  sadly, 
IS  he  turned  over  the  poem — "a  hard  reverse  for  me. 
3h,  Adele  !  thou  wert  better  fitted  to  play  the  weather- 


250  RORY   O'MORE. 

cock,  than  I  the  wind  !  for  I  changed  not,  and  thou  hasl 
turned — thou  hast,  indeed,  been  la giroiitte."  Still  he  pur- 
sued a  revision  of  the  papers,  and  anguish  ever  sprung 
most  keenly  from  the  word  that  had  formerly  given  most 
pleasure — as  the  same  flower  contains  poison  as  well  as 
honey. 

He  continued  to  lift  letter  by  letter  from  the  parcel, 
until  one  met  his  eye  on  whose  back  the  fair  recipient  had 
been  trying  her  pen  ;  and  it  was  manifest  the  experiment 
was  made  not  in  answer  to  one  of  his  letters  ;  for  there  stood 
in  hateful  evidence  **  mon  cher  Hippolyte." 

De  Lacy  sprung  to  his  feet,  stung  to  the  heart  by  this 
proof  of  worthlessness  ;  and  as  he  clasped  his  brow  with 
the  energy  of  agony,  exclaimed,  **  And  could  no  other 
place  be  found  to  write  Ids  name  than  on  the  letter  /  had 
written  !  False  one — false  one  !  Cursed  be  this  evidence 
of  my  credulity  !  Let  it  feed  the  flames  !  "  and  he  flung 
it  fiercely  on  the  fire,  and  continued  one  by  one  to  throw 
others  to  the  blaze,  in  rapid  succession,  while  he  pursued 
his  painful  train  of  thought. 

"  Who  may  believe  a  woman  again  ?  She  whose  love 
made  her  eloquent,  in  whom  passion  was  the  parent  of 
poetry  ;  she  who  seemed  to  think  not  after  the  fashion  of 
ordinary  mortals,  but  whose  ideas  appeared  to  flow  from 
an  exhaustless  fountain  of  fancy  over  which  purity  held 
guardianship  ;  she — she  to  prove  false  !  who  a  thousand 
times  said,  she  desired  no  happier  fate  than  to  share  my 
lot,  whatever  it  might  be  ;  who  would  follow  me  to  the 
camp  or  the  battle-field,  the  prison  or  the  scaffold !  Oh 
Adele  !  Adele  !  " 

His  hand  was  arrested  in  the  work  of  destruction,  by 
seeing  the  title  of  some  verses  he  was  about  to  consume  : 

"  The  Land  of  the  West." 

He  paused  :  "  Ay,  I  remember :  here  is  what  my  fond 
heart  poured  out  when  you  said  so."  And  he  bit  his  I'ps 
while  he  read : 

"THE  LAND  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Oh,  come  to  the  West,  love — oh,  come  there  with  me  : 
-'Tis  a  sweet  land  of  verdure  that  springs  from  the  sea, 
Where  fair  Plenty  smiles  from  her  emerald  throne  ; 
Oh,  come  to  the  West,  and  I'll  make  thee  my  own  I 
I'll  guard  thee,  I'll  tend  thee,  I'll  love  thee  the  best, 
And  you'll  say  there's  au  land  like  the  land  of  the  West  I 


RORY   O'MORE.  29I 

**  The  South  has  its  roses  and  bright  skies  of  blue, 

But  ours  are  more  sweet  with  love's  own  changeful  hue- 
Half  sunshine,  half  tears,  like  the  girl  I  love  best ; 
Oh  !  what  is  the  South  to  the  beautiful  West ! 
Then  come  to  the  West,  and  the  rose  on  thy  mouth 
Will  be  sweeter  to  me  than  the  flow'rs  of  the  South ! 

"The  North  has  its  snow-tow' rs  of  dazzling  array. 
All  sparkling  with  gems  in  the  ne'er-setting  day  ; 
There  the  storm-king  may  dwell  in  the  halls  he  loves  be«t. 
But  the  soft-breathing  zephyr  he  plays  in  the  West. 
Then  come  there  with  me,  where  no  cold  wind  doth  blow, 
And  thy  neck  will  seem  fairer  to  me  than  the  snow. 

*'  The  sun  in  the  gorgeous  east  chaseth  the  night 
When  he  riseth,  refresh'd  in  his  glory  and  might ! 
But  where  doth  he  go  when  he  seeks  his  sweet  rest  ? 
Oh  !  doth  he  not  haste  to  the  beautiful  West  ! 
Then  come  there  with  me,  'Tis  the  land  I  love  best, 
'Tis  the  land  of  my  sires  ! — 'Tis  my  own  darling  West !  " 

The  love  of  country  expressed  in  the  conchiding  lines 
went  to  De  Lacy's  heart,  and  the  sacred  sentiment  bore 
balm  to  the  bosom  of  the  deserted  lover.  "  Yes,"  he  said, 
"  my  country,  all  my  love  is  now  yours  !  False  one  !  false 
one  ! "  and  he  clutched  all  the  papers  that  lay  before  him, 
and  flung  them  on  the  blazing  wood  upon  his  hearth. 
"  There — there  perish  those  records  of  my  folly  and  my 
faith.  Worthless  woman  !  thy  foot,  that  I  had  hoped 
should  have  kept  pace  with  mine  until  they  both  tottered 
to  the  grave — thy  foot  shall  never  press  the  green  sham- 
rocks of  my  native  land — the  land  that  shall  soon,  soon  be 
free — my  own  sweet  Ireland,  my  own  darling  West ! " 
And,  with  an  enthusiasm  pardonable  in  his  excited  mood, 
he  kissed  the  words  as  he  read  them  ;  and  folding  the 
paper,  he  placed  it  next  his  heart,  and  said,  "  Ireland  !  now 
my  love  is  now  all  thine  own  ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


The  Disappointed  Enthusiast  Cools  Down,  and  Rory  Falls  into  a  Strang* 

Religious  Error. 

De  Lacy  quitted  Paris  in  a  few  days,  and  hastened  to 
the  northern  coast,  where  the  army  was  concentrating  in 
great  force,  as  it  was  believed,  to  make  a  simultaneous  in- 
vasion of  England  and  Irelend  as  soon  as  winter  was  over. 

The  troops  were  often  inspected  by  Napoleon   Bon£i« 


2»2 


RORY  O'MORE. 


parte,  to  whom  the  Directory  were  anxious  to  intrust 
s  )me  important  command  to  get  him  out  of  Paris,  for  they 
dreaded  the  presence  of  the  general  so  near  the  seat  of 
government,  who  at  that  moment  was  the  darUng  of  the 
people,  and  little  short  of  worshipped,  after  his  wonderful 
conquest  of  Italy.  They  feared  his  towering  temper  and 
popularity  might  prove  inconvenient ;  for  Bonaparte,  just 
then,  openly  complained  of  not  being  employed,  and  ac- 
cused the  Directory  of  being  desirous  of  having  him  for- 
gotten, for  no  man  knows  better  than  he  how  short  lived 
is  popularity,  and  that  any  amount  of  fame  becomes  pro- 
fitless which  has  not  a  periodical  increase.  And  then  it 
■was  his  secret  scheme  for  the  conquest  of  Egypt  became 
^jgendered,  and  the  gorgeous  dream  of  founding  an  East- 
d"n  empire  opened  on  his  daring  and  ambitious  spirit. 
So,  while  he  indulged  the  popular  belief  that  an  invasion 
t>>  the  North  was  in  preparation,  his  views  and  hopes  were 
al  1  directed  to  the  South.  In  the  meantime,  however,  his 
\^  sits  to  the  Army  of  the  North  were  continued,  and  the 
d  Tganization  of  his  forces  was  conducted  on  the  shores  of 
tfie  British  Channel,  where  he  knew  their  presence  would 
nitain  the  English  navy  until  the  proper  season  arrived 
f{tr  marching  them  to  the  coast  of  the  Mediterranean, 
w  here  the  absence  of  a  hostile  fleet  was  so  important. 

During  the  entire  winter  De  Lacy  and  Tone  and  other 
Irish  emissaries  looked  forward  to  the  opening  spring  for 
tlie  realization  of  all  their  hopes  and  labors  in  a  descent 
upon  Ireland  ;  but  bitter  was  their  disappointment  and 
deep  their  despair  when  the  order  for  the  whole  armament 
to  march  southward  arrived  in  the  month  of  April.  As 
yet  it  was  unknown  what  was  the  destination  of  the  Army 
of  the  North ;  but  it  was  enough  for  the  Irish  refugees  to 
know  it  was  not  for  Ireland.  De  Lacy's  heart  sank,  as  well 
as  those  of  others  ;  but  sorrow  soon  gave  place  to  indigna- 
tion when  Tone  informed  him  that  he  and  other  Irish  del- 
egates had  had  an  interview  with  Bonaparte,  and  that  every 
hope  for  Ireland  was  gone  for  the  present. 

"You  saw  him,  then?"  said  De  Lacy. 

"Yes,"  answered  Tone. 

"  What  did  he  say  ? " 

♦'  Not  much." 

"The  Corsican  is  short  of  speech,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Tone  ;  "  and  I  wish  I  could  say,  in  the 
idiom  of  our  country,  'short  and  sweet  ;'  but  it  was  H\ 
from  that." 


RORY   CM  ORE.  293 

"  What  was  the  objection  ?  " 

**  Not  one  ;  there  was  no  direct  reason  given  against  the 
undertaking,  but  a  manifest  disinclination  to  engage  in  it ; 
and  it  seemed  to  me  there  was  some  hidden  preference  to 
some  other  enterprise  which  usurped  dominion  over  his 
wishes — I  may  say,  his  reason,  for  he  had  not  a  shadow  of 
argument  to  advance  for  abandoning  the  Irish  project." 

"  Did  he  say  nothing  ?  " 

"  I  wish  he  had  said  nothing  rather  than  what  he  did  say. 
If  he  had  made  a  downright  objection  that  one  could  have 
met  and  argued  out  with  him,  I  would  have  been  content 
— and,  I  hope,  content  even  though  I  had  been  beaten  in 
the  argument.  But,  no — not  a  word  of  argument ;  but  whal 
do  you  think  ? "  said  Tone,  becoming  excited  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  can't  conceive,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Why,  only  fancy — only  imagine,  De  Lacy,  my  indigna- 
tion, when,  on  my  urging  Ireland  as  an  object  of  impor^ 
tance,  he  replied, '  Ireland  has  done  all  for  us  we  can  expect 

or  want  ;  she  has  made  a  diversion  in  our  favor.'     By ! 

the  very  words — a  diversion  in  our  favor.  Fancy  this  ! — a 
diversion  !  Oh,  my  poor  country  !  that  he  who  ought  to 
fight  the  cause  of  freedom,  and  has  power  to  do  so,  should 
give  such  an  answer,  and  so  treat  a  suffering  people,  and 
make  a  diversion  of  you.     Curse  him  !  " 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  said  De  Lacy  ;  "  but  perhaps  the  Direc- 
tory  " 

"  Are  in  the  same  cue,"  said  Tone  ;  "  they  handed  me 
over  to  Bonaparte." 

"  Was  there  no  word  of  argument  for  present  delay  ?  " 

"Not  one." 

"  Nor  of  future  hope  ? " 

"  Not  a  syllable  ;  the  laconic  Corsican,  after  having 
made  his  diversion  of  poor  Ireland,  gave  us  our  cong^." 

"This  is  very  hard,  after  all  the  expectations  raised." 

"  Hard  ! — it  is  infamous  !  "  said  Tone.  "  I  cannot  forgive 
him  for  it — and  may  just  Heaven  that  sees  him  turn  un- 
heedingly  from  the  cry  of  a  suffering  nation,  throw  the 
crime  into  the  balance  against  him,  and  may  it  weigh 
heavily  !  Yes  !  may  he  live  to  remember  and  curse  the 
hour  he  refused  to  make  Ireland  his  friend,  and  finds  her 
his  enemy  !  " 

The  words  were  uttered  with  the  fervor  of  national  in- 
dignation and  the  spirit  of  prophecy  :  for  on  the  field  of 
Waterloo  Ireland  was  his  enemy,  and  her  son  his  conqueror 

The  conversation  was  continued  between  Tone  and  De 


294  RORY  O'MORE. 

Lacy  in  this  spirit  of    bitterness  and  regret  until  Tone, 
having  exhausted  his  fury  and  his  lamentations,  retired. 

When  alone,  De  Lacy  went  over  all  the  circumstances  oi 
his  various  disappointments,  since  his  return  to  France,  in 
a  very  disconsolate  mood.  "  Is  there  no  truth,  nor  virtue, 
nor  principle  in  the  world?"  said  he  to  himself.  "Here 
are  those  in  power  on  whose  lips  the  word  '  freedom  '  is 
the  very  janitor  ;  they  open  them  but  to  breathe  the  blessed 
sound,  and  yet  the  word  is  desecrated  by  their  use  of  it ; 
they  refuse  aid  to  the  most  injured  and  suffering  people  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  Shame,  shame  !  they  forget  the 
cause  of  freedom  now,  and  substitute  conquest  in  its  place. 
I  fear  me,  it  is  not  of  peace  and  freedom  they  think,  but 
war  and  dominion  ;  they  seek  less  to  cultivate  the  olive  than 
the  laurel.  Well — I  suppose  I  am  not  the  only  disappointed 
enthusiast.  And  then  the  new  extravagance  of  the  Di- 
rectory !  When  they  were  in  their  most  formidable  posi- 
tion, they  had  a  small  room,  with  bare  walls,  a  few  chairs, 
one  table,  a  writing-desk,  and  as  much  pen,  ink,  and  paper 
as  served  them.  But  now,  they  have  suites  of  apartments; 
and  their  banquets  and  assemblies  are  conducted  on  a  scale 
of  lavish  expenditure,  resembling  rather  the  monarchy 
which  has  been  overturned  than  suited  to  the  moderate 
/neasures  of  republican  resources.  I  fear  me,  there  is  more 
of  talk  than  reality  in  the  patriotism  and  the  freedom,  the 
virtue  and  the  fidelity,  the  sentiment  and  sincerity,  of  this 
headlong  people.  And  yet  they  have  done  glorious  things  ! 
-^deeds  never  to  be  forgotten.  But  I  fear  success  intoxi- 
cates those  who  rule  in  their  councils,  and  that  the  high 
and  noble  aspirations  which  first  achieved  and  maintained 
their  liberty  are  about  to  be  lost  in  national  vanity  ;  and, 
mayhap,  her  victories,  hitherto  won  in  the  fight  of  free- 
dom, may  engender  a  thirst  of  glory  fatal  to  the  cause 
whence  it  sprung,  and  Liberty  may  yet  perish  under  the 
very  arms  she  made  victorious." 

With  the  same  spirit  in  which  he  viewed  public  affairs 
he  looked  upon  his  private  concerns.  When  he.  remem- 
bered all  the  vows  and  sentimentality  of  the  girl  he  loved 
so  truly,  and  contrasted  her  falsehood  with  his  unpretend- 
ing affection,  he  felt  shame  for  her  unblushing  frivolity 
and  his  own  sanguine  credulity.  In  every  way  had  his 
hopes  been  deceived  ;  and  with  the  sudden  reaction  to 
which  enthusiastic  natures  are  prone,  he  began  to  distrust 
with  as  much  haste  as  he  had  believed,  and  disgust  rapidlj 
succeeded  admiration. 


RORY  0--MORE.  295 

**  In  great  things  or  in  small  they  are  alike  ! "  thougl  it 
De  Lacy.  "  Be  it  the  destiny  of  a  nation  or  an  affaire  da 
cceiir,  'tis  all  the  same — you  cannot  depend  upon  them." 

So  great  did  his  repugnance  become  to  joining  the  army 
when  its  destination  was  not  for  Ireland,  that  he  deter- 
mined to  relinquish  the  profession  of  arms  for  the  present, 
rather  than  march  to  the  south,  and  preferred  returning  to 
Ireland,  as  best  he  might,  to  remaining  in  the  country 
where  all  his  hopes  had  been  so  grievously  disappointed. 
It  was  in  this  spirit  a  certain  letter  reached  him,  announc- 
ing the  dangerous  illness  of  his  only  surviving  uncle,  and 
requesting  his  immediate  presence.  His  relative  resided 
at  Bordeaux,  and  De  Lacy  lost  no  time  in  obeying  the  re- 
quest conveyed  in  the  letter,  which  was,  at  the  particular 
moment,  in  accordance  with  his  ulterior  views,  as  Bordeaux 
was  the  most  likely  port  whence  he  could  find  his  way 
back  to  Ireland. 

De  Lacy  was  well  provided  with  funds  ;  for  his  uncle 
was  a  rich  and  also  (as  does  not  always  happen)  a  sensible 
man,  and  knew  that  a  captain  of  grenadiers,  however  well 
he  might  march,  could  not  make  his  way  from  Normandr 
to  Guienne  without  money,  and  the  letter  which  demanded 
his  presence  also  conveyed  the  means  of  speedy  conve}'- 
ance  thither. 

It  would  be  foreign  to  the  main  interest  of  the  story  ip 
dwell  on  the  journey  of  De  Lacy  to  Bordeaux,  in  the  courst; 
of  which  the  dozens  of  "  wonders  "  per  day  which  Ror^r 
uttered  at  everything  novel  which  struck  him  would  amusu^ 
it  is  true  ;  but  as  it  would  retard  the  direct  course  of  the 
narrative,  it  is  better  to  post  on  to  Bordeaux  with  as  little 
delay  as  possible. 

When  De  Lacy  reached  that  celebrated  environ  which 
is  to  be  forever  venerated  as  the  birthplace  of  the  cool 
and  fragrant  wine  so  well  calculated  for  those  who  have 
plenty  of  money  and  leisure — for,  decidedly,  you  must  not 
hurry  a  man  with  his  claret — when  he  reached  Bordeaux, 
I  say,  he  hastened  to  the  house  of  his  uncle,  with  that  uni- 
versal eagerness  which  young  soldiers  generally  exhibit  to 
indulge  the  nepotism  of  elderly  gentlemen  who  have  some- 
thing more  than  their  blessing  to  leave  behind  them. 

The  disease  of  the  uncle,  though  sure  to  terminate  fa<. 
tally,  was  of  a  character  to  baffle  medical  skill  in  predicting 
the  length  of  its  course,  and  the  old  man  lingered  on  with 
a  tenacity  of  life  which  surprised  his  physicians. 

While  he  lay  in  this  uncertain  state,  the  news  reached 


«96  HOJiY   O'MORE. 

France  of  the  outbreak  of  the  rebellion  in  Ireland,  and  De 
Lacy's  impatience  to  reach  the  scene  of  action  became  ex- 
treme ;  but  his  uncle's  state  of  health,  as  well  as  the  old 
man's  advice  and  request,  forbade  it.  He  represented  that 
a  single  arm  could  not  strengthen  the  cause,  and  added  his 
fears  that  without  foreign  aid  the  struggle  could  not  ter- 
minate favorably  to  De  Lacy's  wishes— and  in  case  of  fail- 
ure, how  much  more  prudent  to  remain  absent  when  the 
individual  aid  was  so  disproportioned  to  the  individual 
risk. 

"  Oh,  if  everyone  thought  of  risk,  where  would  all  the 
boldest  and  noblest  achievements  of  history  be  ?  "  said  De 
Lacy. 

"  Were  you  on  the  spot,  my  boy,  I  would  not  counsel 
you  to  be  a  dastard  ;  but  as  chance  has  so  ordered  it  that 
you  are  absent  at  the  time,  rush  not  into  such  terrible  peril. 
Besides,  you  are  my  only  living  relation — you  must  not 
leave  me  to  die  alone,  with  stranger  hands  to  close  my 
eyes  in  a  strange  land." 

De  Lacy  returned  the  pressure  of  his  uncle's  hand,  but 
*«till  he  burned  to  be  in  Ireland  at  the  moment. 

The  eagerness  was  extreme  with  which  he  sought  for  in- 
telligence thence,  through  every  channel  ingenuity  could 
suggest  or  money  procure.  Various  and  uncertain  were 
the  rumors  received  at  that  distance  relating  to  the  strug- 
gle, and  his  life  was  a  state  of  fever  while  it  remained  un- 
decided. This  lasted  all  through  the  summer;  but  in  the 
autumn  intelligence  arrived  of  the  total  overthrow  of  the 
insurgents,  and  his  impatience  was  then  changed  to  de- 
spair. Shortly  after,  his  uncle  died,  and  De  Lacy  became 
the  inheritor  of  his  property.  This  was  not  large,  for  his 
uncle's  income  was  derived  principally  from  mercantile 
pursuits,  and  the  realized  wealth  was  not  extensive — the 
principal  portion  of  it  consisting  of  a  small  property  in 
Ireland,  the  proceeds  oi  which  reached  France  annually 
by  an  agency  communicating  through  a  neutral  country. 

This  circumstance  decided  De  Lacy  in  his  course  of  con- 
duct. He  determined  to  return  to  Ireland,  retire  to  his 
little  property,  form  around  him  a  circle  of  dependents 
whom  he  should  render  faithful  and  attached  by  kindness; 
and  as  the  chance  was  past  of  bettering  their  political  posi- 
tion, he  would  at  least  make  their  condition  less  wretched 
by  affording  them  the  protection  and  relief  of  which  he 
had  witnessed  their  want.  If  he  could  not  prove  a  patriot 
on  a  grand  scale,  he  would  become  a  benefactor  on  a  smali. 


RORY  O'MORS.  2^7 

"And,  after  all,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  I  have  been  so  disgust<;d 
with  the  show  and  not  the  substance  of  noble  feelings  hert;, 
that  I  begin  to  doubt  the  possible  existence  of  the  state  ui 
things  I  have  contemplated — or,  perhaps,  I  had  better  sav, 
dreamed  of  ;  my  hopes,  like  Astraea,  must  fly  back  to  the 
heaven  whence  they  came,  when  the  worthlessness  of  earth 
has  affrighted  them  ;  and  as  I  cannot  achieve  the  freedom 
I  desire  for  my  countrymen,  I  will  return  among  them, 
and  at  least  make  their  condition  more  endurable  bv 
spreading  comfort  and  kindness  as  widely  as  I  can  round  my 
own  immediate  centre.  And  now,  when  the  supremacy  of 
the  dominant  party  is  established,  perhaps  their  security- 
may  engender  a  forbearance  to  their  less  fortunate  fellow- 
subjects  which  will  render  society  not  so  intolerable  as 
when  I  left  them  ;  and  if  men  cannot  enjoy  equal  rights 
they  will  at  least  be  permitted  to  live  unmolested." 

It  was  with  these  moderate  expectations  De  Lacy  lookecf 
forward  to  a  return  to  Ireland,  which  he  intended  to  effect 
by  the  Swedish  ship  (early  spoken  of  in  our  story)  which. 
traded  between  Dublin  and  Bordeaux  ;  and  having  every- 
thing in  readiness  for  his  departure,  he  only  awaited  hei- 
putting  to  sea,  to  bid  an  eternal  farewell  to  France. 

On  the  morning  of  their  sailing,  Rory,  before  embarking, 
went  to  one  of  the  churches  to  offer  up  his  prayers  for  a 
safe  voyage.  The  church  was  prepared  for  one  of  those 
fetes  common  at  the  time,  when  the  conscripts  were  pre- 
sented with  their  arms  by  their  sweethearts,  in  presence  of 
the  assembled  people,  who  chanted  the  Marseillaise  all  the 
time,  at  the  foot  of  the  statue  of  Liberty  ;  but  Rory,  never 
having  seen  any  such  piece  of  business,  did  not  know  what 
the  garlands  and  banners  meant,  when  he  entered  the  aisle 
early  in  the  morning,  long  before  the  celebration  of  the 
fete  was  to  take  place,  and  when  he  was  the  only  person 
present. 

He  looked  about  in  wonder  some  time,  and  seeing  the 
statue  of  Liberty  very  magnificently  decorated,  he  thmight 
it  could  represent  no  other  than  the  Virgin  Mary  ;  and  so 
Rory  popped  down  on  his  knees  before  the  Goddess  of 
Liberty,  and  began  to  pray  devoutly  to  the  holy  Mother. 
While  in  the  act  of  devotion,  a  couple  of  soldiers  strolled 
into  the  church,  to  see  if  all  was  in  proper  cue  for  the  ap- 
proaching military/'/^;  and  seeing  Rory  on  his  knees  be- 
fore the  Goddess  of  Liberty,  they  thought  him  some  fond 
enthusiast  of  the  revolution,  and  exclaimed  with  delight, 
"  Ah^  que  c'est  drole.     Ma  foU  c'est  un  brave  gar^on  qui  aiita 


298  RORY  O'MORE. 

iant  la  libcrt'-  qu'il  se  ffiet  a  genoux  a  la  deesse."  They  ap.« 
proached  Rory  as  they  spoke  ;  but  their  admiration  was 
somewhat  dashed  when  they  saw  him  bless  himself  very 
devoutly,  making  sundry  crucial  flourishes  with  his  hand 
upon  his  breast  and  forehead  as  he  bobbed  and  ducked 
before  the  statue. 

The  soldiers  then  advanced  in  front  of  Rory,  and,  look- 
ing upon  him  with  great  contempt,  exclaimed,  "  Sacre  sot,''' 
and  turned  from  him  with  disgust. 

Rory,  having  finished  his  prayers,  returned  to  De  Lacy, 
who  immediately  proceeded  on  board  the  vessel.  On  ask- 
ing Rory  if  he  dreaded  encountering  the  sea  again,  Rory 
answered,  "  Not  in  the  laste,  sir,  for  I  seen  the  Virgin 
Mary  this  mornin'." 

"  Saw  who  ?  "  said  De  Lacy,  in  wonder. 

"  The  Virgin  Mary,  sir." 

De  Lacy  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  serious  way  in 
which  the  absurdity  was  uttered  by  Rory,  who,  not  relish- 
ing his  mirth,  said  : 

"  Sure,  sir,  is  it  laughing  at  me  you'd  be  for  sayin'  my 
prayers  ? " 

"Certainly  not  ;  but  you  tell  me  you  saw  the  Virgin 
Mary." 

"  And  so  I  did,  and  said  my  prayers  forninst  her  in  the 
big  church  ;  and  why  wouldn't  I,  and  we  going  on  the 
wide  say  ? " 

De  Lacy  now  laughed  more  heartily  than  before,  while 
he  told  Rory  that  it  was  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  he  had 
been  praying  to  instead  of  the  Virgin. 

"  You  don't  tell  me  so  ? "  said  Rory,  with  horror  in  his 
looks. 

"  Indeed  'tis  true." 

"  Oh,  God  forgi'  me  !  if  it's  a  sin  ;  but  sure  I  thought  it 
was  the  Queen  iv  Heaven  herself,  and  I  ax  her  pardon  for 
mistakin'  their  dirty  haythinish  goddess  for  her  ;  but  sure 
I  hope  it's  no  harm,  since  it  was  done  undher  a  mistake." 

"  Don't  be  uneasy,  Rory,"  said  De  Lacy,  who  saw  he  had 
distressed  him  by  his  laughter  ;  **  I  hope  the  prayer  that  is 
offered  to  Heaven  in  purity  of  heart  will  find  its  way 
there,  before  whatever  altar  it  is  breathed." 

With  such  tolerant  sentiment  did  De  Lacy  go  on  board, 
committing  himself  to  the  care  of  that  Providence  in  whose 
unlimi*^'"'^  mercies  and  protection  he  reposed  his  faith. 


RORY  O'MORE.  299 

CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

A  Mysterious   Meeting. 

And  now  our  story  must  return  to  Ireland.  A  period  of 
a  year  had  nearly  elapsed  since  Rory  had  left  its  shores, 
but  how  fearful  was  the  history  of  those  few  months  left 
behind  !  too  fearful  to  be  touched  on  here,  too  tempting 
to  the  passion  of  party,  or  too  forcibly  appealing  to  the 
gentler  feelings  of  human  nature,  for  mortal  pen  to  be 
trusted  with.  It  might  be  a  "  recording  angel  "  alone  that 
could  write  of  that  period  ;  and  oh  !  how  much  must  she 
weep  over  as  she  recorded,  and  well  if  it  could  be  blotted 
out  forever.  It  was  the  awful  year  of  1798,  whose  acts 
seemed  the  work  of  fiends,  and  whose  records  are  but  of 
blood. 

In  the  autumn  of  that  year  the  insurgents  were  dis- 
persed, with  the  exception  of  a  few  scattered  parties  of 
the  most  desperate,  who  still  kept  the  fastnesses  of  the 
hills,  or  held  out  a  miserable  and  hunted  existence  in  the 
bogs.  It  was  in  the  dusk  of  an  evening,  at  this  period, 
that  Mary  O'More  had  a  message  conveyed  to  her  through 
an  old  beggar-woman,  stating,  "  that  if  she  would  go  to  a 
certain  place,  alone,  she  would  meet  a  person  to  give  her 
tidings  she  would  be  glad  to  hear." 

The  woman  endeavored  to  excite  Mary's  curiosity  still 
further  ;  but,  in  such  unsettled  times,  to  go  alone  was  a 
service  of  more  danger  than  she  had  courage  to  look  calmly 
upon  ;  for,  though  a  girl  of  a  bold  and  high  spirit,  she 
never  recovered  the  shock  which  her  rencounter  in  the 
glen  of  the  Folly  had  produced.  "  Could  not  the  person 
come  to  her,  whoever  it  was  ?  if  he  or  she  wished  her  well, 
they  would  not  object  to  do  so." 

"  May  be  they  can't.  " 

"  An  outlaw  it  is,  then  ? " 

"  Not  that ;  but  mustn't  come  into  the  village." 

"  They  shall  suffer  neither  hurt  nor  harm  if  they  come 
lo  our  place." 

"  No  ;  you  must  meet  the  person." 

"  I'm  afeard  of  some  plot." 

"  I  tell  you,  child,"  said  the  woman,  "  and  I  swear  to  yot 
by  the  blessed  vestments,  no  harm  is  meant  you." 

"Then  tell  me  who^it  is." 


30O 


RORY  O'MORE. 


"I'm  bound  not." 

"  I'm  afeard,"  said  Mary,  hesitating, 

"  Then  you  woti't  hear  of  it ;  may  be  you'll  be  sorry." 

"  I  can't  be  sorry  for  what  I  don't  know." 

"May  be  there's  thim  you'd  like  to  hear  of." 

"  Is  it  poor  Conolly  ? "  said  Mary,  who,  though  she  ncvev 
loved,  felt  a  deep  interest  in  the  faithful  friend  who  hatS 
assisted  her  and  her  mother,  however  he  could,  after  Rory 
had  disappeared,  and  who  was  among  those  who  were 
outstanding  with  the  rebels  :  not  that  he  had  committed 
any  acts  of  brutal  aggression,  but  some  daring  deeds  he 
had  achieved  during  the  insurrection  had  marked  him  for 
vengeance  from  the  other  party. 

"  There's  thim  you  loved  betther  than  you  loved 
Conolly,"  said  the  beggar-woman. 

Mary  blushed,  and  thought  of  De  Lacy,  and,  ashamed 
of  the  thought,  was  glad  the  twilight  forbade  the  mendi- 
cant seeing  the  evidence  on  her  cheek  ;  for  all  uncon- 
sciously had  the  poor  girl  dwelt  on  the  remembrance  of 
him  (a  remembrance  rendered  doubly  dear  by  its  being  as- 
sociated with  recollections  of  her  brother),  and  had  read 
over  and  over  again  his  books  that  he  had  given  her,  and 
recorded  in  her  memory  his  courtesy  and  gentle  bearing, 
until,  under  these  influences  of  heart  and  mind,  an  effect 
was  wrought  upon  her  of  which  she  herself  knew  not  half 
the  strength. 

"  Suppose  you  could  hear  something  of  him  ?  " 

"Who?"  said  Mary. 

"  Suppose  your  brother " 

"  What  ? "  exclaimed  Mary,  clasping  her  hands  in 
wonder. 

"  Suppose  Rory  was " 

"  Gracious  God  !  is  he  alive  ?  "  cried  the  agitated  girl, 
laying  hold  of  the  speaker. 

"  You  may  hear  something  about  him  you'll  be  glad  of; 
will  you  go  nowl  " 

"  Anywhere,"  said  Mary,  with  courage  which  the  hope 
of  such  news  inspired  ;  "  but  if  you  deceive  me " 

"  I'm  not  deceivin'  you." 

"  You're  a  woman,  and  should  not  betray  one  of  you\ 
own  sex." 

"I  tell  you,  Mary  O'More,  you're  safe  if  you  follow  me.'*' 

''Then  lead  on  where  you  like,"  said  Mary  ;  "and  I'll 
foHovv." 

The  beggar-woman  walked  rapidlj^  away  from  the  vll. 


RORY  O'MORE.  301 

lage  ;  but,  instead  of  going  down  the  street,  she  struck  into 
V.  path  which  lay  behind  the  Widow  O'More's  cabin,  and 
led  to  some  solitary  upland  beyond  it. 

It  is  necessary  here  to  explain  that  the  Widow  O'More 
and  her  daughter  were  not  now  living  in  the  snug  cabin 
where  first  the  reader  knew  them.  That  had  been  burned 
(luring  the  rebellion,  and  then  its  inmates  had  removed  to 
the  village.  Kathleen  Regan  too,  and  her  mother,  were 
driven  from  their  homes  about  the  same  time,  for  Shan 
Regan  had  been  long  a  defaulter  in  the  payment  of  his 
rent  ;  and  when  the  affair  in  the  glen  of  the  Folly  obliged 
him  to  fly,  in  consequence  of  the  magisterial  search  after 
him,  matters  got  more  involved  ;  for  his  poor  mother  knew 
not  what  to  do,  and  was  nearly  heart-broken  at  her  son's 
misconduct  ;  and  when  the  rebellion  broke  out,  and  Regan 
was  known  to  be  among  the  most  lawless  of  the  insur- 
gents, the  landlord  visited  the  crimes  of  the  child  on  the 
parent,  instead  of  the  sins  of  the  fathers  being  visited  on 
the  children  as  the  Decalogue  declares.  But  this  was  not 
the  only  instance  in  those  terrible  times  of  men's  actions 
being  at  variance  with  Holy  Writ. 

Under  such  circumstances,  when  these  two  suffering 
families  found  themselves  deprived  of  their  natural  homes, 
and  the  men  who  were  their  natural  protectors,  they  agreed 
to  reside  together  ;  and,  as  the  open  country  was  danger- 
ous, they  went  into  the  village,  and  lived,  if  not  in  safety, 
at  least  in  companionship. 

On  reaching  the  upland  the  mendicant  stopped  near  the 
edge  of  a  narrow  road  which  led  over  the  hill,  and,  from 
its  great  age  and  long  wear,  formed  a  sort  of  covered  way  ; 
here  she  stopped  and  gave  a  loud  cough  by  way  of  signal ; 
it  was  immediately  answered,  and  a  man  emerged  through 
the  hedge  that  fringed  the  embankment  of  the  road,  and 
approached  the  spot  where  Mary  stood  with  her  guide. 
On  his  getting  nearer  she  perceived  it  was  the  old  tinker 
who  approached,  and  she  recoiled  at  the  recognition  ;  but 
her  guide  assured  her  she  had  nothing  to  fear. 

The  tinker  approached  Mary  with  the  greeting  that  de- 
notes good  faith,  and  expressed  his  gladness  she  had  come, 
as  he  had  much  to  say  of  consequence  to  her  ;  he  then 
asked  her  to  remove  from  her  guide  a  sufficient  distance  to 
be  out  of  hearing. 

"  Can't  you  say  what  you  have  to  say  before  her  ?  I 
don't  like  her  to  leave  me." 

"  Copieaway  a  few  steps,  my  poor  colleen"  said  Sclomon, 


302  RORY  O'MORE. 

with  more  gentleness  in  his  voice  than  Mary  had  evef 
heard  before.  "  Don't  be  afeard  ;  there's  no  harm  comiii 
to  you." 

"  You  won't  go  far  from  us,"  said  Mary  to  the  beggar- 
woman,  for  even  in  her  whom  she  had  never  seen  before 
ihe  felt  more  of  fellowship  and  protection  than  in  the  old 
tinker,  whom  she  always  disliked  ;  and,  since  the  day  she 
last  had  seen  him  at  the  glen  of  the  Folly,  his  image  was 
associated  with  all  that  was  revolting  to  her  feelings. 

"  We  are  far  enough  away  now,"  said  Mary  to  Solomon  ; 
"  I  won't  go  another  step,  and  whatever  you  have  to  tell 
me,  tell  me  at  wanst." 

"  Well  thin,"  said  Solomon,  "  I  brought  you  here  to  tell 
you  that  Rory's  alive." 

"  Oh,  holy  mother  !"  exclaimed  Mary,  dropping  on  he/ 
knees  and  bursting  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  There,  there  !  now  don't  be  foolish,  colleen  ;  he's  aliv§ 
and " 

"  Where  ?  where  ?  tell  me  where,  for  the  love  o'  God  ! " 

"Aisy,  aisy.  Wait  and  I'll  tell  you.  Now,  first  and 
foremost  you  must  know  that  it  was  Shan  Dhu  was  at  the 
beginnin'  and  end  of  it  all,  and  I've  nothing  to  do  wid  it 
but  havin'  had  the  bad  luck  to  know  iv  it  ;  and  for  that 
same  I've  been  hunted  up  and  down  the  country  ever 
since,  and  would  have  towld  you  afore,  only  I  darn't  sh®w 
my  face.  But  you  see  it  was  lyin'  heavy  on  my  conscience 
all  the  time  ;  and  now  I  run  the  risk  o'  bein'  taken  up, 
and  hanged,  may  be,  all  for  the  sake  o'  settin'  your  mind  at 
aise,  and  takin'  the  weight  av  my  heart." 

"  But  where  is  Rory  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  he's  in  France,  I  b'lieve — at  laste  he  was  car- 
ried off  along  with  the  collecthor.  But  he  wasn't  mur- 
thered,  as  you  thought." 

"Solomon,"  said  Mary,  impressively,  "by  your  hopes  of 
mercy  on  your  dyin'  day  ! — and  you're  not  far  off  the  grave, 
07V Id  man " 

"Whisht,  whisht !  "  interposed  Solomon  ;  "  don't  be  say-, 
in'  that." 

"Oh,  sure  we're  all  nigh  death  every  minit,  if  it's  God's 
V'ill.  But  I  charge  you  not  to  put  false  hope  into  a  sis- 
ther's  heart." 

"  It's  thruth,"  said  Solomon  ;  "  and  more  than  that  I've  to 
tell  you.  Shan  Regan  is  in  the  hills  hidin',  and  a  few 
blackguards  like  himself  along  wid  him  ;  and  I  hear  he 
intinds  makin'  an  offer  for  takin' j(??^  off." 


RORY  O'MORE.  303 

'■  May  the  Lord  pity  me,"  said  Mary. 

"  But  don't  be  afeared,"  added  the  tinker  ;  "  if  you'll  only 
do  my  biddin'.  You  saved  my  life  beyant  in  the  glen,  and 
I  don't  forget  it  to  you  colleen  agra  ;  and  so  I  kem  to  tell 
you  the  thruth  about  Rory,  and  make  your  heart  aisy  ; 
and  if  you'll  only  go  along  wid  me  to  the  magisthrit,  and 
I'll  swear  it  all  agin  Regan  ;  and,  moreover,  I  know  where 
he's  hidin',  him  and  his  morodin'  vagabones,  and  I'll  lade 
the  sojers  on  thim  sly,  and  have  thim  all  taken  and  hanged 
like  crows,  for  indeed  the  gallows  is  greedy  for  thim." 

"  Let  us  go  now,"  said  Mary  ;  "  Misther  Dixon's  is  not 
over  a  couple  o'  miles." 

*'  Too  late  to-night,  colleen,  with  the  martial  law  out ;  we 
had  betther  both  keep  unknownst  for  to-night  ;  but  to- 
morrow mornin'  I'll  be  wid  you,  and  go  to  the  magisthrit's. 
So  now  away  wid  you  home,  and  plaze  God  you'll  see 
Rory  yet  ;  and  yourself  will  be  the  safer  from  harm  the 
sooner  Shan  Dhu  is  taken  care  of.  Good-night  to  you, 
colleen.  Rimimber  to-morrow  mornin'  I'll  be  wid  you." 
And  the  old  tinker  vanished  through  the  hedge  ;  while 
Mary  O'More  rejoined  the  mendicant,  who  had  remained 
near  the  spot,  and  in  her  company  returned  to  the  village. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed  it  was  any  compunctious  visiting 
of  the  old  tinker's  conscience  urged  him  to  the  disclosure 
he  made  to  Mary  O'More,  or  that  it  was  any  feeling  of 
tenderness  toward  the  girl,  or  compassion  for  her  suffer- 
ings, which  operated  upon  him.  In  this,  as  in  all  the  other 
actions  of  his  life,  Solomon  sought  his  own  advantage. 

To  explain  this,  it  becomes  necessary  to  revert  to  the 
period  when  Solomon  fled  with  his  money-bag  from  the 
glen  of  the  Folly,  and  left  Mary  O'More  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  Shan  Dhu.  Having  escaped  the  observation  of 
the  huntsmen,  and  got  clear  of  Regan,  he  concealed  his 
treasure  in  a  new  hiding-place,  of  w^hich  none  were  cog- 
nizant but  himself  and  the  stars.  This  being  effected,  his 
next  object  was  to  keep  out  of  Shan  Dhu's  way  ;  but,  in 
a  day  or  two,  he  found  another  and  more  extensive  cause 
for  concealment  in  the  search  the  officers  of  justice  were 
making  through  the  country,  after  Mary  O'More's  deposi- 
tions respecting  the  scene  she  had  witnessed  in  the  glen. 
Solomon  continued  to  effect  concealment  with  success  un- 
til the  rebellion  broke  out,  and  while  that  raged  the  au- 
thorities were  engaged  in  wholesale  business,  and  did  not 
attend  to  such  paltry  details  as  delinquent  tinkers  ;  but, 
when  the  insurrection  was  quelled.  Solomon  had  his  two 


304  RORY   O'MORE. 

sources  of  apprehension  opened  to  him  afresh  ;  for  govern- 
ment was  in  a  very  hanging  humor  for  less  than  what  Sol- 
omon was  suspected  of,  and  he  had  got  a  whisper  that 
Regan,  who  still  held  out  in  the  hills,  had  said  "  he  wished 
he  could  come  across  the  tinker  ;"  and  Solomon  best  knew 
why.  "If  he  could  lay  his  hands  on  me,"  said  Solomon  to 
himself,  "he'd  thry  and  get  the  goold  out  o'  me  ;  but  if  I 
didn't  tell  him  where  it  is — and  I  wouldiit — he'd  murther 
me,;with  the  rage  ;  and  suppose  I  did — may  be  he'd  mur- 
ther me  too.  But,  anyhow,  I  think  it's  not  good  for  my 
health  that  Regan's  alive  ;  and  why  wouldn't  I  sthrive  to 
save  my  own  life  ?  So  wid  the  blessin'  o'  God,  Shan  Dhu, 
my  boy,  I'll  have  you  in  the  stone  jug*  as  soon  as  I  can, 
and  dancin'  on  nothin'  afther." 

It  was  with  this  view  he  sought  Mary  O'More,  and 
aroused  her  fears  respecting  Regan's  intention  of  carrying 
her  off,  and  her  hopes  regarding  her  brother.  He  induced 
her  to  go  with  him  to  the  magistrate,  and  depended  on 
her  friendly  presence  as  a  protector  to  him  on  this  occa- 
sion ;  and  as  he  should  not  only  reveal  the  circumstances 
of  the  kidnapping  of  the  collector,  whose  disappearance 
he  should  represent  himself  as  being  an  unwilling  witness 
of,  but  also  to  volunteer  to  lead  the  military  to  the  retreat 
of  a  party  of  desperate  rebels  who  still  committed  many 
robberies,  he  trusted  thus  to  procure  his  own  pardon  and 
protection,  and  at  the  same  time  secure  the  death  of  the 
man  he  dreaded  most — Shan  Regan.  Such  was  the  web 
the  old  spider  wove. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

Containing  Solomon's  Examination  and  Its  Results. 

It  was  quite  true,  the  intelligence  the  old  tinker  had 
heard  respecting  Regan's  intention  toward  him.  From 
the  day  he  had  escaped  out  of  the  glen  of  the  Folly  with 
Kls  money,  Regan  had  in  vain  endeavored  to  find  out  his 
places  of  retreat ;  but,  Shan  himself  being  a  refugee  at  the 
time,  his  means  of  acquiring  information  on  the  subject, 
and  putting  his  wishes  into  effect,  were  so  circumscribed, 
that  Solomon  had  escaped  all  harm  from  his  designs. 

Could  he  have  laid  hold  of  the  tinker  during  the  period 

♦Jail 


RORY  O'MORE.  305 

of  his  hiding  himself  after  the  abduction  of  tlie  collector, 
it  was  his  intention  to  have  endeavored  by  force  to  wring 
some  of  the  hidden  gold  from  old  Solomon,  and  by  its 
means  to  procure  his  flight  from  the  country  ;  but  the 
period  of  the  rebellion  gave  him  other  hopes,  and  trusting 
to  the  success  of  the  insurrection  for  his  ultimate  safety 
and  plenty  of  plunder,  the  tinker  was  free  from  his  evil 
intentions  ;  but  when  total  defeat  had  driven  the  last  des- 
perate remnant  of  the  rebels  into  the  fastness  of  the  moun- 
tains and  their  bogs,  his  thoughts  again  reverted  to  Solo- 
mon and  his  hidden  treasure  ;  and  the  same  desire  of 
possessing  it  returned,  in  the  hope  of  its  enabling  him  to 
get  a  passage  to  America,  and  he  used  every  means  within 
his  power  to  discover  where  Solomon  might  be  seized, 
while  the  tinker  at  the  same  time  was  meditating  how  to 
compass  the  death  of  Regan.  Thus  were  they  worthily 
engaged  in  plotting  each  other's  destruction — one  of  the 
thousand  examples  that,  while  the  friendships  of  the  good 
strengthen  with  age,  the  attachments  of  the  profligate 
and  base  have  the  elements  of  ruin  in  their  very  founda- 
tion. 

The  tinker  was  true  to  his  appointment  with  Mary  for 
the  following  morning  ;  and  they  proceeded  in  company 
to  the  house  of  Mr.  Dixon,  where  Solomon  made  his  de- 
positions before  that  magistrate,  to  the  effect  stated  in  the 
foregoing  chapter.  Solomon's  disclosure  being  so  long 
withheld,  threw  much  suspicion  on  his  testimony ;  the 
more  so,  as  he  himself  was  an  accused  person  by  Mary 
O'More's  previous  deposition  made  some  months  before  -^ 
yet,  even  if  he  were  guilty,  Mr.  Dixon  was  glad  to  take  him 
as  king's  evidence,  for  the  discovery  and  punishment  of 
others.  On  his  being  questioned  why  he  did  not  make 
the  disclosure  sooner,  he  said  he  dreaded  the  vengeance  of 
those  who  had  accomplished  the  act,  in  case  he  divulged 
it.  "Yet,"  said  Dixon,  "you  let  an  innocent  man  suffer 
under  the  imputation  of  having  committed  a  murder  for 
some  time.  You  knew  this  poor  girl's  brother  was  ac 
cused  of  having  murdered  Mr.  Scrubbs." 

"Yis,  sir;  but  sure,  when  the  colleen,  afther  that,  swore 
agin  me,  that  I  had  a  hand  in  makin'  away  wid  Rory  O' 
More,  and  I  was  obleeged  to  hide  away  for  life,  sure  I  was 
afeard  even  tJiin  to  come  and  clear  myself  ;  and  it's  only 
now,  when  yiz  have  got  the  fellows  undher  that  was  dis- 
turbin'  the  country,  that  I  ventured  to  come,  for  my  life 
wouldn't  be  safe  to  do  it  afore." 
20 


3o6  RORY   O'MORE. 

"  I  think  it  very  extraordinary  an  innocent  person  should 
hesitate   to  give   himself  up." 

'■'■  Sure  I  am  giving  myself  vip  now." 

"Yes,  after  a  year  ;  but,  if  you  were  free  from  guilt  you 
would  have  done  it  sooner.  Now  take  care  you  swear  the 
truth  ;  because  even  if  you  are  guilty,  you  shall  have  par- 
don for  turning  king's  evidence  and  bringing  the  other 
guilty  parties  to  justice.  So  do  not,  through  any  fear  of 
your  own  life,  give  false  evidence." 

"I'll  swear  the  thruth,  sir,  and  nothing  else." 

"  Do  you  swear  then,  positively,  that  the  collector  was 
not  murdered  ? " 

"I  do." 

"And  that  he  has  been  only  taken  over  sea?" 

"Yis,  sir." 

"  And  that  no  other  violence  was  done  him  ? " 

"Yis,  sir." 

"Then  how  came  you  and  Regan  by  the  money  this  girl 
saw  you  dig  up  in  the  glen  ? " 

"  Oh !  that  was  a  thrifle  I  saved,  sir,  and  put  there  ;  and 
Shan  Dhu  wanted  to  take  it  av  me."  . 

"  Saved  ! — you  save  ! — was  it  much  ? " 

"Oh!  how  could  a  poor  owld  craythur  like  me  save 
much  ?     It  was  only  a  few  shillin's." 

"  And  yet  this  girl  says  he  was  going  to  murder  you  for 
that  money.  Now  would  a  man  murder  for  a  few  shil- 
lings ?" 

"There  was  no  more,  upon  my  oath." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  ?" 

"In  throth  I  am." 

"Where  is  that  money  at  present  ?" 

*'Och  now  !  thin  and  sure  Shan  Dhu  run  afther  me  that 
same  day,  and  cotch  me  in  the  wood,  and  tuk  it  all  away 
from  me." 

"Will  you  swear  positively  you  did  not  rob  the  collector?" 

"  I  will." 

"  Nor  see  him  robbed  ? " 

"  He  was  not  robbed,  I'll  give  my  oath." 

"And  Rory  O'More,  you  say,  also  is  gone  with  him  ?" 

"He  is." 

"  Was  Rory  O'More  of  your  party  ?" 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Mary  ;  "  no,  no  vour  honor  !  " 

"Silence,  girl,"  said  the  magistrate  ;  "it  is  not  you  who 
are  under  examination.  What  do  you  answer?"  added  he 
to  Solomon. 


kORY  O-'MORE.  307 

"  He  was  not,  sir." 

"  How  came  he  there,  then  ? " 

Solomon  described  the  circumstances  of  Rory's  unfort- 
unate adventure  at  the  Folly,  with  the  liberation  of  De 
Welskein  and  his  party  ;  and  for  once  in  his  life  did  jus- 
tice to  O'More  in  relating  his  gallant  defence  of  the  col- 
lector, and  his  own  fate  in  consequence.  As  to  the  tink- 
er's presence  there,  he  told  a  long  rigmarole  so  involved 
in  parenthesis  and  digression,  that  the  magistrate  could 
make  nothing  of  it,  which  was  exactly  what  Solomon 
wanted  ;  and  he  concluded  by  declaring  "  it  was  all  along 
o'  that  vagabone  Regan  that  inthrapped  him  into  it,  by 
way  of  goin'  to  a  party." 

Though  Mr.  Dixon  had  every  suspicion  of  Solomon  as 
far  as  the  story  concerned  himself,  yet  there  was  an  ap^ 
pearance  of  truth  about  the  tale  as  it  bore  on  Rory's  ad- 
venture almost  inducing  him  to  give  it  credence  ;  but  his 
mind,  strongly  preoccupied  with  the  generally-received 
false  impressions  on  the  subject,  now  found  the  truth  diffi- 
cult to  believe,  and  mystery  had  hung  so  long  over  the 
affair,  and  made  it  doubtful  whether  Rory  was  a  murderer 
or  a  murdered  man,  that  this  sudden  resurrection  of  him 
and  clearance  of  his  character  from  stain  required  more 
respectable  evidence  than  the  tinker's  to  obtain  credit. 

"And  you  say  this  Shan  Regan  is  the  guilty  person  ?  " 

"Yis,  sir;  and  is  in  the  hill  at  this  present  with  some 
vagabones  like  himself  ;  and  I'll  swear  it  all  agin  him, 
and  show  the  sojers  the  way  to  the  place  where  he  is,  and 
he  may  be  nabbed  as  aisy  as  kiss  hand." 

"  Very  well ;  but  you  must  remain  in  custody  until  you 
prove  what  you've  sworn  to." 

"To  be  sure,  your  honor's  worship;  for  now  I've  no 
business  to  be  seen  out  afther  tellin'  all  this — and  I'd 
rather  be  in  the  jail  for  the  safety." 

"  You  shall  be  taken  every  care  of  after  you  return  with 
the  military  party  from  the  hills." 

"  God  bless  your  worship's  honor  !  sure  they'd  murther 
me  if  I  was  cotch  ;  but  suppose  they  did  itself,  my  con- 
science is  aisier  than  it  was  for  many  a  day,  afther  swarin' 
the  truth  agin  that  black  villain,  Regan." 

No  time  was  lost  by  Mr.  Dixon  in  summoning  a  military 
party  from  a  regiment  in  the  neighborhood,  to  make  a 
capture  of  the  rebels.  This  detachment  was  commanded 
•^v  Ute  Ensign,  now  Captain,  Daw,  for  his  regiment  had 
Doen  very  much  cut  up  during  the  rebellion  ;  and  Death 


3o8  RORY  O'MORR. 

happening  to  make  his  choice  from  among  the  sensiblt; 
men  of  the  corps,  Daw  got  promotion.  In  addition  to  thi 
soldiers,  some  of  the  yeomanry  cavalry,  under  the  com- 
mand of  the  bold  Captain  Slink  (De  Lacy's  acquaintance), 
put  themselves  under  arms  to  assist  in  cutting  off  the  re- 
treat,  if  necessary,  of  any  fugitive  rebels  ;  and  the  com- 
bined forces  marched  for  the  mountain  pass,  under  the 
distinguished  guidance  of  Sawdherin'  Solomon. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


The  Attack  ;  Showing  how  Different  is  the  Conduct  of  Soldiers  and  Yeo . 
manry,  in  the  Battle  and  After  It. 

It  was  one  of  the  wildest  passes  of  the  hills  the  insur- 
gents selected  for  their  stronghold.  It  chanced,  on  the 
day  the  military  party  marched  against  them,  that  these 
fellows  had  made  a  larger  muster  than  usual  to  hold  a 
council  on  their  affairs  ;  for  being  hemmed  in  more  than 
ordinary,  they  wanted  to  break  away  from  their  present 
cover,  and  take  up  a  position  in  another  range  of  moun- 
tains some  miles  distant.  They  usually  kept  together  In 
parties  of  three  or  four,  the  more  easily  to  effect  concea!- 
ment,  and  had  their  points  of  occasional  meeting  under- 
stood among  themselves  ;  but,  in  the  movement  they  pro- 
jected, it  was  necessary  to  make  combined  effort,  and  for 
such  a  purpose  they  had  met  in  this  pass  which  Solomon 
found  out  to  be  the  spot  Regan  had  made  his  place  of 
refuge. 

Living  the  hunted  life  they  did,  the  outlaws  exercised 
the  greatest  watchfulness  ;  and  on  this  day,  while  the  ma- 
jority of  the  men  held  their  council  under  the  screen  of 
some  bold  rocks,  imbedded  in  heather,  there  were  scouts 
posted  at  such  points  as  commanded  a  view  of  the  circum- 
jacent hills  and  the  country  below  to  give  the  alarm  in  case 
of  the  approach  of  enemies.  They  had  not  been  more 
than  half  an  hour  in  conclave,  when  one  of  the  scouts  ran 
in  and  told  them  he  suspected  the  approach  of  the  mili- 
tary. Every  man  was  on  his  legs  in  an  instant,  and  looked 
to  the  priming  of  his  piece  ;  for  they  were  all  well  armed, 
and  tolerably  provided  with  ammunition,  which  their 
friends  in  the  low-lands  contrived  to  procure  and  leave  for 


RORY  O'MORE.  30^ 

them  in  secret  appointed  places  ;  in  this  way  they  were 
also  provisioned. 

Jack  Flannerty,  one  of  the  heroes  of  the  Folly,  as  the 
reader  may  remember,  and  Regan,  were  principal  among 
the  outlaws  ;  so  they  went  forth  to  reconnoitre  in  the  quar- 
ter whence  the  scout  announced  the  hostile  approach,  and 
after  some  ten  minutes'  observation,  were  enabled  to  dis- 
cover the  nature  of  their  foes,  and  make  a  tolerable  guess 
at  their  number.  They  then  left  their  sentinel  still  on 
the  watch,  and  returned  to  the  main  body  of  the  men  to 
communicate  the  news  and  arrange  a  plan  of  defence. 

"  Are  they  yeos*  or  reg'lars  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  rebels. 

"  Faith  they're  reg'lars,  sure  enough  ;  but  not  over 
twenty,  or  thereaway." 

"That's  as  much  as  we  are  ourselves." 

"  Well,"  said  Flannerty,  "  and  who  cares  ?  Sure  we  have 
the  advantage  o'  the  ground,  and  the  knowledge  iv  it — and 
that's  more  than  a  match  for  them.  Never  mind  ;  if  we 
don't  lick  them  ;  we'll  sarve  them  the  same  sauce  we  sarved 
the  Anshint  Britons — divil  a  man  o'  thim  will  go  home  ! " 

"  But  Regan  says  there  is  cavalthry  as  well." 

"And  what  if  there  is  ?"  said  Flannerty  ;  "supposing  it 
was  rale  cavalthry,  what  good  are  they  up  here  ? — but  it's 
not ;  it's  only  the  yeomanthry,  that  you  might  bate  if  you 
had  nothing  but  sticks." 

Silence  now  ensued  for  a  few  minutes,  while  the  men 
w^atched  the  approach  of  the  soldiers  as  they  wound 
through  a  little  road  at  the  foot  of  the  hills.  On  their  ar- 
riving at  a  certain  point,  and  quitting  the  road  for  a  path, 
Regan  exclaimed,  "  See  that  !  By  the  'tarnal,  they're 
comin'  up  the  right  way  into  the  pass  !  Someone  must  be 
Avid  'im  that  knows." 

"  What  will  we  do  now  ? "  said  Flannerty  ;  "  we  can't 
have  a  slap  at  thim  over  the  bank  in  the  deep  road  below." 

"  Thin  we  must  go  higher  up  the  pass,  Jack,  where  the 
cavalthry  can't  come  at  us,  and  murdher  the  sojers  the 
best  way  we  can." 

"The  yeos  is  sticking  to  them  still." 

"  Well,  they  can't  come  beyant  the  gray  stones  ;  at  laste 
they  -cvont,  you  may  be  sure,  for  they  are  mighty  proud  of 
a  whole  skin  ;  they'll  come  as  far  as  they  have  a  road  be- 
hind them  to  run  back,  but  divil  a  taste  further." 

In  a  few  minutes  more  the  horsemen  halted,  and  a  seem" 

*  Yeemen.  or  regular  troops. 


310  RORY  O'MORE. 

ing  consultation  ensued  between  the  officers  ;  after  which, 
the  infantry  advanced  up  the  heights,  which  became  more 
steep  and  broken  every  hundred  yards. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  the  yeos  would  lave  the  business  to 
the  sojers  ?  Now,  boys,  do  you  all  fall  back  higher  up 
there  in  the  pass  ;  and,  though  you  lie  hid,  keep  a  good 
open,  all  o'  yiz,  for  the  muzzle  of  the  gun  and  a  sharp  eye 
on  the  sojers  ;  and  let  the  man  that  is  furthest  up  the  pass 
level  at  the  foremost  sojer,  and  the  man  that  is  the  high- 
est to  thim  at  the  hindmost,  and  so  you  won't  throw  away 
your  fire,  by  two  shooting  at  one  man  ;  andzccV/  hide  here, 
just  six  iv  us  ;  and  when  they  have  passed  about  forty 
yards  or  thereaway,  we'll  slap  at  thim  in  the  rear,  and 
that'll  make  thim  turn,  and  the  minit  you  see  thim  turn, 
put  the  fire  into  thim  immediantly  at  the  other  side,  and 
you'll  see  how  they'll  stagger  !     Away  wid  you,  boys  !  " 

The  plan  was  instantly  put  in  practice  ;  the  principal 
part  of  the  outlaws  were  perched  on  each  side  of  an  abrupt 
and  very  narrow  rocky  gorge,  defying  any  regular  assault 
of  troops,  and  admirably  suited  to  the  purposes  of  the 
marksman  ;  besides  affording  that  perfect  concealment 
suited  to  a  surprise  ;  while  Regan  and  Jack  Flannerty,  with 
four  of  the  most  desperate  of  their  companions,  crouched 
among  the  rocks  and  heather  at  the  entrance  of  the  pass. 
Jack  Flannerty  had  his  eye  fixed  on  the  advancing  party 
with  the  eager  keenness  of  a  hound,  and  said  quickly  to 
Regan,  who  lay  beside  him,  "  Look  for  a  minit  ;  do  you 
see  nothing  among  the  sojers  remarkable  ? " 

Regan  was  not  so  sharp-sighted  as  his  companion,  and 
answered,   "  No." 

"  There's  a  man  in  the  middle  o'  thim  that's  not  a  sojer," 
said  Flannerty  ;  "  whisht  ? — by  the  'tarnal,  it's  that  owld  vil- 
lain, Sawdherin'  Solomon  ! " 

"  Solomon  !  "  said  Regan,  looking  out  eagerly  ;  "  so  it  is 
— the  gallows  owld  thraitor  ! " 

"  I'll  shoot  him  through  the  gray  plottin'  head,  the  vil- 
lain," said  Flannerty,  "when  I  fire." 

"No,"  said  Regan,  who  thought  at  the  moment  of  the 
secret  of  the  tinkers  treasure  dying  with  him  ;  "don't  shoot 
him — we'll  ketch  him  and  give  him  a  death  fitter  for  ti 
thraitor  like  him  ;  don't  shoot  him.  Jack." 

"I  won't,  thin,"  said  Flannerty.  "Whisht!  lie  close, 
boys  ;  they're  com  in'." 

The  party  of  soldiers  drew  near  the  pass,  with  Solomon 
in  the  centre,  who  urged  Captain  Daw  not  to  march  his 


RORY  O'MORE.  311 

men  in  a  body,  but  to  "scatther  them,"  as  he  said; 
"  for  you  don't  know  how  'cute  these  chaps  is  at  a  nam- 
flush." 

But  the  captain  thought  it  would  be  a  very  pretty  story, 
indeed,  if  it  ever  could  be  said  he  took  instructions  from  a 
tinker  ;  so  on  he  went,  without  even  the  precaution  of  a 
couple  of  men  in  advance  or  in  the  rear.  The  lieutenant 
ventured  to  remark  to  the  captain,  that  the  gorge  they  were 
going  to  enter  was  an  ugly-looking  place,  and  asked,  should 
he  send  a  couple  of  men  forward. 

"  I  can  command  it,  sir,  if  I  think  it  necessary,"  said  the 
bold  captain.  The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth 
when  the  discharge  of  the  dozen  fowling-pieces  in  their  rear 
knocked  over  as  many  soldiers  ;  the  men  instinctively  turned 
to  fire  in  the  direction  whence  the  shots  came,  but,  before 
they  pulled  a  trigger,  the  ambushed  party  in  the  gorge  put 
in  so  murderous  a  volley  that  the  soldiers  were  quite  stag- 
gered, and  returned  it  almost  at  random.  Daw  became  be- 
wildered, and  the  lieutenant  suggested  falling  back,  as  they 
were  manifestly  entrapped  into  an  ambuscade.  The  captain 
gave  his  assent  and  the  men  very  willingly  went  to  the  right- 
about ;  but  here  they  were  met  by  Flannerty  and  his  des- 
peradoes, who  arose  from  their  places  of  concealment  with 
a  wild  shout,  which  was  answered  by  the  party  in  the  gorge; 
Solomon  clung  closely  to  the  captain  when  he  saw  Regan 
among  the  assailants,  and  the  military  party  began  to  re- 
tire, as  fast  they  might  in  tolerable  order.  Regan,  seeing 
Solomon  so  nearly  within  his  grasp,  jumped  from  an  over- 
hanging rock,  and  rushing  upon  him,  caught  hold  of  part 
of  his  dress,  and  was  dragging  him  back  from  the  captain, 
of  whom  Solomon  kept  an  iron  grip.  The  captain  fancied 
this  was  an  attempt  to  rescue  from  his  hands  the  old  rascal 
who  had  led  him  into  an  ambuscade,  and  though  still  in  be- 
wilderment from  the  suddenness  of  the  surprise  his  party 
had  sustained,  his  courage  would  not  brook  such  an  inso- 
lent attempt  at  defiance  ;  and  turning  boldly  on  Regan,  he 
ran  him  through  the  body  with  his  sword.  Regan  fell  with 
a  sharp  gasping  cry,  and  the  soldiers  came  to  a  rally  in  tol- 
erable order  when  they  saw  their  captain  turn  and  defend 
himself.  Regan,  after  a  writhing  plunge  upon  the  ground, 
raised  himself  on  his  elbow  while  he  drew  a  pistol  from  his 

breast,  and  levelling  it  at  Solomon,  gasped  out,   "  H -11 

to  your  sowl ! "  as  he  fired  it  ;  but  his  aim  was  untrue,  and 
the  ball  intended  for  the  old  villain  entered  the  head  of  poor 
Daw,  who  measured   his  length  on   the  heather.     Regan 


312 


I^ORY  O'MORE. 


grinned  like  a  demon  upon  the  tinker,  who  stood  riveted 
to  the  spot  in  terror  ;  and  Shan  Dhu,  gurgling  up  the  words 
"  Blast  you  !  "  fell  back  to  speak  no  more. 

The  outlaws  in  the  meantime  had  reloaded  their  pieces, 
and  put  in  a  second  volley,\vhich  committed  dreadful  havoc. 
This  destructive  fire  occurring  the  moment  after  their  cap- 
tain fell,  the  soldiers  became  panic-struck  and  made  a  hur- 
ried retreat. 

"  Come  along,  you  old  scoundrel  !  "  said  the  lieutenant, 
laying  hold  of  Solomon  by  the  collar  and  dragging  him 
down  the  hill  as  he  hurried  after  his  men.  The  rebels  pur- 
sued the  fugitives  for  some  minutes  ;  but  seeing  them  fall 
back  upon  the  support  of  the  yeomanry,  who  were  numer- 
ous, they  returned  to  their  mountain  fastness,  unwilling  to 
hazard  the  loss  of  the  success  they  had  already  achieved, 
and  which  to  them  at  this  moment  was  of  much  impor- 
tance ;  for  it  would  enable  them,  under  the  alarm  which  the 
repulse  of  the  military  would  produce,  to  retire  unmolest- 
ed from  their  present  hold  to  the  stronger  chain  of  adjacent 
mountains. 

When  the  soldiers  rallied  upon  the  support  of  the  yeo- 
manry, the  lieutenant  addressed  Captain  Slink,  and  request^ 
ed  his  aid  in  returning  to  the  pass  ;  but  this  was  a  mattei 
the  yeomanry  captain  thought  worth  thinking  of  twice  ;  as. 
the  rush  of  the  men  down  the  hill,  their  diminished  num- 
bers, their  wounds,  and  tb.c  blood  of  the  lieutenant  him- 
self, tinging  deeply  a  handkerchief  he  bound  round  his 
arm  as  he  iTiade  his  request,  appealed  strongly  to  a  certain 
tender  Scriptural  recollection  the  captain  had  about  "  his 
days  being  long  in  the  land  ;  "  for  though  he  had  no  father 
nor  mother  to  "honor,"  inasmuch  as  the  former  was  a 
small  lord  of  great  patronage  who  quartered  his  unac- 
knowledged relations  on  the  public  purse  ;  and  his  mother, 
therefore,  could  not  be  honored,  yet  as  the  land  had  some- 
thing worth  remaining  in  for  him,  he  thought  it  would  be, 
in  more  ways  than  one,  a  tempting  of  Providence  to  put 
his  life  in  jeopardy  ;  besides,  as  the  captain  had  a  very  ex- 
alted idea  of  the  comfort  of  a  whole  skin,  he  considered 
the  proposal  of  the  lieutenant  one  of  those  wild  and  ill- 
tempered  suggestions  a  beaten  man  will  sometimes  make 
at  the  moment  he  is  smarting  imdcr  defeat. 

"  My  dear  sir,  don't  be  rash,"  said  the  captain,  "you 
seem  to  have  had  a  very  warm  reception  already." 

"  Yes,  d n  them  !  "  said  the  lieutenant,  bitterly;  "but 

you  see  they  have  retired  upon  seeing  your  support  of  us, 


RORV   O'MORE.  313 

and  if  you  will  return  with  me  and  "my  remaining  men,  we 
shall  chastise  these  rebel  rascals  yet." 

"I  really  cannot,  sir,  in  conscience,  risk  the  lives  of  so 
many  gentlemen." 

Here  one  of  the  corps  put  in  a  word  : 

"  I'm  sure,  Captain  Slink,  if  you  think  it  right,  we  are 
all  very  ready." 

"  By  no  means,  gentlemen  ;  your  courage  is  too  well 
known  to  require  any  proof  on  this  occasion  ;  and  I'm 
sure  it  would  only  be  making  a  sort  of  unhandsome  re- 
flection on  the  conduct  of  the  gallant  men  who  have  suf- 
fered to-day,  if  we  were  to  admit  even  the  supposition 
that  we  could  succeed  where  they  have  failed." 

"Sir,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "our  failure  was  attributable 
solely  to  a  successful  ambuscade  prepared  for  us." 

"  An  ambuscade  !  "  exclaimed  the  captain,  in  triumph  ; 
"  my  dear  sir,  say  no  more  ;  that's  quite  enough  ;  there 
was  one  piece  of  advice  which  my  friend  Captain  Skurry, 
of  the  Skurry  Horse,  used  to  say  to  me  :  'My  dear  Slink, 
never  go  near  an  ambuscade.  Wh^n  you  see  the  enemy 
in  an  ambuscade  let  him  alone.' "  > 

The  lieutenant  looked  at  the  captain  with  mingled  feel- 
ings of  contempt  and  wonder  at  his  cowardice  and  igno- 
rance, and  only  added  : 

"  Well,  sir,  I  sha'n't  ask  you  to  pursue  the  rebels  ;  but  at 
least  support  me  and  my  men  in  recovering  the  body  of 
our  captain,  who  has  fallen  in  the  affair." 

"  Indeed,  upon  my  word  and  honor  I  won't ;  that's  the 
very  place  them  rascally  rebels  would  be  waiting  for  you  ; 
don't  think  I'll  help  you  to  run  any  more  risks  to-day." 

"  Sir,  I  don't  like  leaving  the  body  of  our  late  command- 
ing officer  on  the  ground." 

"  My  dear  sir,  what  harm  can  he  come  to,  and  he  dead  ? 
if  he  was  alive  indeed." 

"  He  may  be,  sir,  although  he  has  fallen,"  said  the  lieu- 
tenant. 

"  Not  he,  indeed  ;  they  always  pike  everybody  them  vaga- 
bone  rebels,  the  minit  they  fall  ;  I  know  them  better  than 
you,  sir." 

"  Even  as  a  point  of  honor,  sir,  I  do  not  like  leaving  the 
body  of  a  king's  officer  in  the  hands  of  such  miscreants, 
and  I  request  your  support." 

"  Oh,  if  you  talk  about  honor,  that's  another  affair  ;  and 
upon  my  honor,  if  it  was  a  point  of  honor,  I  would  be  as 
ready  as  any  man  to  do  my  out  her  most  in  the  business  ;  and 


^14  RORY   O'MORE. 

if  we  were  fighting  regular  troops,  the  real  thing,  you  know 
■ — the  Simon  Pure — I'd  do  all  that  could  be  done  ;  but  you 
see,  my  dear  sir,  these  dirty  blackguards  is  not  to  be  treated 
like  gentlemen,  and  I  would  not  indulge  them  by  letting 
them  see  they  gave  me  any  concern." 

The  lieutenant,  perceiving  it  was  useless  to  urge  his  suit 
any  further  in  this  quarter,  turned  to  his  men,  and  said, 
"  You  won't  leave  your  captain  behind  you,  boys  ?  " 

The  men  returned  a  fierce  "  No  ;  "  it  was  not  a  cheer — 
their  recent  defeat  had  taken  that  out  of  them  ;  but  given, 
as  it  was,  with  something  between  a  growl  and  a  bark, 
there  was  the  tone  of  determination  in  it  which  assured 
their  officer  in  leading  them  once  more  up  the  pass. 

"  I  leave  this  old  scoundrel  in  your  care,"  said  he,  to  the 
yeomanry  captain  ;  "you  can  take  care  of  him  at  least  ;" 
and  with  this  contemptuous  farewell  to  the  cavalry,  he 
gave  the  word  "  Forward." 

There  was  no  opposition  to  the  soldiers  in  their  back- 
ward march,  which  was  conducted  with  more  caution  than 
under  the  command  of  the  foolish  officer  whose  rashness 
had  caused  their  defeat,  and  whose  life  had  paid  the  for- 
feit of  his  indiscretion  ;  he  still  lay  where  he  had  fallen, 
and  had  not  beeji  piked  as  the  heroic  yoemanry  captain  pro^ 
phesied.  Nor  was  there  any  savage /f?.?/  mortem  disfigure- 
ment on  any  of  the  fallen  soldiers.  "  We  cannot  remove 
all  our  dead  comrades  at  present,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
"  but  let  us  bear  home  our  captain  ; "  and  the  remains  of 
their  former  commander  were  carried  back  by  the  brave 
fellows,  who  would  not  desert  him,  even  in  death,  to  where 
the  horsemen  still  awaited  them  ;  and,  on  rejoining  the 
troop,  the  lieutenant  showed  no  inclination  to  hold  any 
further  converse  with  such  a  pack  of  poltroons. 

But  the  captain  was  not  to  be  put  off  so  ;  he  congratu- 
lated him  on  recovering  the  body  of  Captain  Daw,  as  they 
marched  homeward  ;  and,  in  answer  to  the  lieutenant's  re- 
mark that  the  rebels  had  not  piked  a  fallen  enemy,  he  re- 
plied it  must  have  been  in  consequence  of  their  having 
seen  his  corps  of  yeomanry  so  near,  which  forced  them  to 
a  precipitate  retreat.  "  For  I  assure  you,  sir,  they  dread 
us  exceedingly  ;  we  flog  and  hang  the  rascals  every  day 
we  catch  them  ;  and  I  will  say,  without  fear  of  contradic- 
tion, that  our  corps  has  done  more  in  the  pitch-cap  and 
tar-and-feathering  line  than  any  other  in  Ireland." 

"  Very  likely,  sir,"  said  the  lieutenant,  coldly. 

"  But  in  this  instance — the  affair  of  to-day,  I  mean — you 


RORY  O'MORE.  315 

know  I  would  not  have  been  justified  in  any  rash  or  hasty 
movement  ;  life,  sir — life  is  a  precious  thing — life  is  a  thing 
not  to  be  trifled  with,  particularly  by  one  of  his  majesty's 
justices  of  the  peace,  who  has  such  matters  in  charge." 

"  As  far  as  you  are  concerned,  sir,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
"  I  am  sure  it  will  be  taken  every  care  of." 

"  Certainly,  sir  :  I  respect  the  laws,  and  life  and  property 
— and  why  shouldn't  I  ?  By-the-by,  if  you  come  over  to 
my  place  any  day,  nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleas- 
ure: there  is  always  something  ready,  and  soldiers  are  not 
particular;  pot-luck  is  always  open  to  you  at  Slinkstown, 
and  you  shall  have  a  skinful  of  claret  at  all  events." 

All  these  proffered  civilities  of  the  hero,  who  wanted  to 
court  the  soldier's  favor,  were  but  coldly  received  by  the 
lieutenant,  whose  contempt  for  his  cowardice  was  too  great 
to  be  so  easily  overcome  ;  and  the  captain  had  the  conver- 
sation pretty  much  to  himself  as  they  made  their  way  to 
the  low-lands.  There,  meeting  a  peasant  driving  his  horse 
and  car  laden  with  unthrashed  corn,  the  warlike  justice  of 
the  peace  stopped  him,  and  declaring  the  fatigue  of  carr}- 
ing  home  the  captain's  body  too  much  for  the  soldiers,  or^ 
dered  the  peasant  to  back  and  unload  his  car,  and  bear  the 
body  to  the  town,  which  was  the  contrary  direction  to  that 
in  which  he  was  going. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  the  corn,  your  honor  ?"  said  the 
peasant,  timidly. 

"  Back  it  down  on  the  road-side  there,"  was  the  answei. 

The  poor  peasant  scarcely  ventured  to  look  as  if  he 
thought  it  hard  to  throw  down  his  corn  in  the  open  road, 
much  less  dare  to  speak  an  objection  to  the  order  ;  and 
unloosing  the  cords  which  bound  the  produce  of  his  toil  to 
his  car  that  was  bearing  it  to  market,  he  was  obliged  to 
scatter  his  little  harvest  on  the  highway,  and  waste  that 
which  God  had  given  to  the  living  for  the  service  of  the 
dead. 

The  lieutenant  had  remonstrated  against  this  measure, 
but  the.  Justice  w'as  inexorable. 

The  body  of  the  captain  was  laid  on  the  car,  a  sheaf  of 
corn  being  strewn  beneath  him — strange  association  of  the 
sword  and  the  ploughshare  ! 

The  car  having  been  thus  appropriated,  the  party  moved 
onward,  and  the  lieutenant's  moodiness  having  increased, 
the  justice  addressed  him  in  a  cheering  tone  : 

"  Come,  sir,  don't  be  downhearted  ;  'tis  a  sad  sight  to  be- 
6ure,  to  see  your  comrade  going  home  stiff  ;  but  at  the 


3TO  ROKY   O'MORE. 

same  time,  lieutenant,  remember  promotion  is  tlie  life  and 
soul  of  the  army,  and  this  will  be  a  step  for  you." 

Such  'A.  remark,  with  the  dead  body  of  his  fallen  com- 
rade before  him,  was  so  disgusting  that  the  soldier  made 
no  reply,  rather  than  the  one  which  his  feelings  would 
have  promoted  ;  so  the  justice  proceeded  : 

"  Very  natural  ;  of  course  you'd  be  sorry  for  a  brother 
officer  you'll  miss  at  mess  to-day.  By-the-by,  the  last 
time  I  saw  him  at  dinner  was  at  Slinkstown  ;  he  had  his 
legs  under  my  mahogany  last  week,  poor  fellow  !  it's  oak 
they'll  be  under  next." 

With  a  running  fire  of  such  sentimental  conversation, 
did  the  noble  captain  persecute  the  lieutenant  on  their 
march  ;  and,  when  his  sentiment  became  exhausted,  he 
took  a  turn  on  military  affairs. 

"  By-the-by,  in  the  midst  of  our  engagement,  I  forgot 
to  ask  you  exactly  how  this  d — ■ — d  affair  took  place  to-day. 
Strange  mistake  of  poor  Daw  to  let  himself  be  trapped ; 
an  ambuscade,  you  say  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Ah,  no  good  military  man  ever  lets  himself  get  into  an 
ambuscade  ;  as  my  friend  Captain  Skurry  used  to  say, 
'  The  moment  you  see  your  enemy  in  an  ambush,  have 
nothing  to  do  with  him.'     Poor  Daw — very  rash." 

"He  certainly  was  not  a  coward,'^  said  the  lieutenant  in 
a  tone  that  might  have  touched  a  nicer  sense  of  hearing 
than  Captain  Slink's  ;  "  and  as  for  his  imprudence  in  this 
affair,  the  blame  is  very  much  lessened  when  we  remem- 
ber he  w^as  led  into  the  snare  by  the  very  person  on  whom 
}ie  relied  for  guidance." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  I  mean  that  old  scoundrel  in  advance  there  among  my 
men  led  us  into  the  trap." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  the  tinkering  vagabon'  played 
false  ? " 

"  I  do,  though." 

"  My  dear  sir,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  before  ? " 
Then,  raising  his  tone  to  the  pitch  of  military  command, 
he  cried  "  Halt !  "  The  party  obeyed.  "  Why  didn't  you 
tell  me  this  sooner  ?  and  I  would  have  hanged  the  old 
villain  on  the  spot  ;  however,  we  can  do  it  now.  I  say, 
you  old  scoundrel !  "  cried  he  to  Solomon;  "come  here, 
you  d d  rebel  !  you  treacherous,  tinkering  traitor  !  " 

Solomon  looked  round  in  much  alarm  at  tlie  tone  of 
)?his    uddress  ;    and  when  he   saw  the    menacing   actions 


RORY  O'MORE. 


317 


which    accompanied    the    words    his    heart    sank    within 
him. 

**  Get  that  rope  ready,"  said  the  justice,  pointing  to  the 
one  which  had  secured  the  load  of  corn  to  the  car. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  liang  the  man  now  ?  "  said  the  lieu- 
tenant. 

"  Don't  I  ?  "  said  Captain  Slink  ;  "  he's  not  the  first  I've 
hanged  at  a  short  notice,  nor  won't  be  the  last,  please 
God — that's  the  way  to  quiet  the  country." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  better  to  march  him  into  the 
town,  and  give  him  a  court-martial  before  he's  hanged  ; 
he  deserves  hanging  certainly,  and  I  have  no  doubt  will 
be  hanged,  but  it  will  be  more  regular  to  try  him  first." 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  the  justice,  "  try  him  indeed  !  We'll  try  if 
he's  proof  against  hemp — thafs  the  way  to  try  rebels." 

All  this  time  Solomon  stood  trembling  and  unable  to 
speak  ;  but  when  two  of  the  yeomanry  corps  advanced  to 
lay  hands  on  him,  he  made  a  gasping  cry  for  mercy,  and 
having  once  gained  the  power  of  speech,  addressed  the 
lieutenant,  and  appealed  to  him  for  protection.  ''  Sure^ 
what  would  you  hang  me  for  ?  didn't  I  bring  you  to  the 
place?" 

"The  less  you  say  the  better,"  said  the  lieutenant ,- 
"  you  brought  us  into  an  ambuscade,  and  you  must  answei- 
for  it  ;  but  you  shall  have  a  court-martial." 

"■  I'll  hang  him  on  the  spot,"  said  the  captain. 

**  I  request  you  will  not  be  precipitate,  sir,"  said  the  lieu- 
tenant. 

"  Oh,  Lord  !  oh.  Lord  !  "  screamed  Solomon  ;  "  and 
sure  didn't  you  see  that  they  cotch  me,  and  wanted  to 
murdherme  for  bringin'you  on  thim  ?" 

"They  caught  you,  certainly,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "to 
get  you  out  of  my  hands  when  you  had  betrayed  us  ;  and 
it  was  in  preventing  your  rescue  our  captain  fell.  So  say 
no  more  about  your  innocence  ;  but  you  shall  not  die 
here  ;  you  shall  have  a  fair  trial  before  a  court-martial." 

"  I  say,  he  shall  die  on  this  spot  !  "  said  the  justice. 

"  I  would  beg  to  represent  to  you,  sir,  that  this  man  is 
the  prisoner  of  my  party  ;  and  as  you  have  had  no  share 
in  the  loss,  I  think  you  are  premature  in  the  punishment. 
Let  the  man  be  tried  ;  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  be  con- 
demned to  death  ;  but  let  him   have  at  least  a  trial." 

"  You    say  yourself  he  deserves   hanging— and,  by  the 

dng  G — d!  I'll  hang  him  up  like  a  doe." 


livm 


"Suppose,  sir,  I  don't  choose  to  give  him  up  to  you  ?" 


3i8  RORY  O'MORE.  ' 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  sir  !  "  said  Slink,  whose  savagery 
increased  whenever  he  could  sniff  blood  with  impunity — 
•'you  seem  to  have  been  taking  airs  on  yourself  all  day 
and  forget  I  am  a  magistrate,  and  that  it  is,  in  fact,  under 
my  authority  you  are  acting  at  this  minute  ;  and  I  warn 
you,  sir,  on  pain  of  my  complaint  against  you  to  your  com- 
manding officer,  not  to  interfere  with  me  in  this  affair." 

All  this  time  Solomon,  whose  face  was  the  color  of  death, 
was  trembling  between  the  two  yeomen,  and  faintly  mum- 
bling, "  Oh,  God — Lord,  be  merciful  to  me  !  "  and  other 
such  ejaculations  ;  and  by  one  of  those  strange  and  light- 
ning touches  of  thought  which  bring  before  us  the  scene 
we  least  expect,  he  reverted  to  his  meeting  with  Mary 
O'More  the  night  before,  when  she  adjured  him  by  his 
gray  hairs  not  to  deceive  her,  and  said,  "C>A/  man,  you're  not 
far  off  the  grave  !  "  The  remembrance  came  upon  him  like 
the  sound  of  a  passing  bell,  and  from  that  instant  he  gave 
himself  up  for  lost,  and  only  begged  for  the  love  of  God 
they  would  not  hang  him  without  letting  him  see  a  priest. 

"Oh,  let  me  have  a  priest!"  cried  the  trembling  old 
sinner. 

"I  wish  we  had  one  here,"  said  Slink,  "and  I'd  hang 
him  beside  you  with  pleasure  !  " 

The  lieutenant,  as  the  last  argument,  represented  there 
was  no  place  whereon  to  hang  the  old  man,  as  the  justice 
would  have  it  so  ;  but  to  this  Captain  Slink  replied  : 

"  That's  all  you  know  about  it !  Now  I'll  give  you  a 
lesson  in  hanging  maybe  useful  to  you  yet,  if  you're  in  a 
hurry,  as  I  am  now,  to  get  rid  of  a  rebel." 

"  I'm  no  rebel !  the  God  that  hears  me  knows  I  never 
was  a  rebel !  "  faltered  the  tinker — and  it  was  one  of  the 
few  truths  he  had  ever  uttered. 

"Unyoke  that  car,"  said  Justice  Slink  :  "take  the  cap- 
tain's body  off,  and  lay  it  beside  the  ditch,  till  we  finish 
this  business.  Do  your  duty,  Scroggins,"  said  he  to  the 
trumpeter  of  his  troop,  who  was  a  ruffianly  dependent  of 
his  ;  and  nothing  loath,  the  gentle  Scroggins  whipped  the 
noose  of  the  car-rope  round  the  withered  neck  of  old  Sol- 
omon, who  screamed  as  he  felt  his  head  within  the  loop. 

"Turn  up  the  car,"  said  the  justice. 

The  vehicle  was  thrown  back  on  its  end,  and  the  shafts 
thus  became  sufficiently  elevated  to  give  a  purchase  for  the 
fatal  rope  across  the  back-band  ;  and  as  the  coward  cap- 
tain cried,  "  Away  with  him  !  "  the  unfortunate  tinker  was 
dragged  screaming  to  the  impromptu  gallows,  and  his  cries 


RORY   O'MORE.  3tg 

were  only  smothered  in  the  writhing  twirl  with  which  he 
sprung  upward  to  his  death. 

The  yeomanry  corps  gave  a  shout  ;  but  the  soldiers 
looked  on  in  silence,  and  the  lieutenant  in  disgust. 

"  It  will  be  soon  over,"  said  Justice  Slink,  "  and  then 
you  can  have  the  car  again  for  the  conveyance  of  the  cap- 
tain." 

"Sir,"  said  the  lieutenant,  indignantly,  '■'■  your  gallows 
shall  never  be  the  resting-place  of  a  soldier  !  Take  up 
your  captain,  boys,"  added  he  to  his  men,  who  obeyed  at 
the  word,  and,  glad  to  escape  from  the  scene  of  atrocity 
which  was  enacting,  they  turned  from  the  yeomanry  in  the 
midst  of  their  gibbeting  glory,  and  gladly  heard  the  word 
"  March,"  from  the  lieutenant. 

"  That  fellow's  disaffected,  though  he  wears  the  king's 
cloth,"  said  Slink,  pointing  after  the  lieutenant  when  he 
was  out  of  hearing  ;  "  and  by  G — d  !  I'll  report  him  to  the 
commanding  officer." 

"  It  would  be  only  right,"  was  answered  by  several  of 
the  corps. 

"  Things  are  come  to  a  pretty  pass,  indeed,  when  we  are 
to  be  left  vmsupported  by  the  military  in  the  discharge  of 
our  duty,  and  endeavoring  to  pacify  the  country  !" 

"  How  d d  hard  that  old  rascal's  dying  ;  your  hand's 

out,  Scroggins,  to-day." 

"  He's  a  tough  old  thief,"  said  Scroggins. 

"  Give  him  another  pull,  or  he'll  keep  us  here  all  day,"  said 
the  justice  ;  "and   it's  beginning  to   rain,  and   there's  no 

fun  in  getting  wet  to  see  a  tinker  hanging.     D n  him  ! 

he  will  will  never  die  !  better  finish  him  at  once,  and  ride 
home.  Stand  aside,  Scroggins,"  added  the  captain,  as  he 
drew  a  pistol  from  his  holster  ;  "  we  can't  wait  till  he's 
dead,  and  we  mustn't  leave  unfinisheed  work  behind  us." 
And  levelling  his  pistol  as  he  spoke,  he  fired  at  the  still 
writhing  body  of  the  old  man,  whose  mortal  agonies  ter- 
minated with  the  short  muscular  jerk  which  the  bullet  of 
Justice  Slink  produced  as  it  passed  through  a  vital  part, 
and  down  dropped  the  legs  of  the  suspended  victim  in  the 
rigidness  of  death. 

"  Fall  in  ! "  said  the  captain  to  his  troop,  as  he  returned 
his  pistol  to  the  holster  ;  and  the  order  of  march  was  re- 
sumed when  those  who  had  dismounted  regained  their 
saddles. 

The  peasant  whose  car  had  been  thus  polluted,  and  who 
stood    in  speechless  hoiTor  at  the    merciless  act  he   was 


32d  KORY   O'MORE. 

forced  to  witness,  now  took  off  his  hat,  and  in  the  ton^  of 
humblest  liumiHty,  said,  "  Plaze,  your  honor,  won't  your 
honor  be  plazed  to  ordher  the  dead  man  to  be  taken 
down  ?  " 

"  Take  him  down  yourself,"  said  the  justice  ;  "  he  woa't 
do  you  any  harm."  And  giving  the  word  to  his  troop, 
away  they  rode,  leaving  the  peasant  looking  after  them  in 
horror-stricken  wonder  how  men  could  be  such  monsters. 

When  a  bend  of  the  road  shut  out  the  horsemen  from 
his  sight,  he  turned  with  a  feeling  of  loathing  to  where 
their  victim  was  hanging  between  the  shafts  of  the  car, 
which  industry  had  dedicated  to  the  offices  of  peace,  and 
had  been  laden  with  the  fruits  of  plenty,  but  now  bore  the 
harvest  of  death. 

The  very  thought  of  touching  the  body  was  revolting  to 
him  and  he  stood  gazing  on  the  horrid  sight  motionless  as 
the  object  that  appalled  him. 

And  there  hung  the  old  tinker,  the  end  of  his  wily  and 
worthless  life  being  a  violent  death  ;  and  though  many  of 
his  deeds  were  worthy  of  capital  punishment,  he  died  at 
last  on  suspicion  of  one  of  the  few  crimes  he  had  never 
committed. 

While  the  peasant  was  still  undecided  as  to  how  he 
should  act,  he  perceived  a  traveller  approaching — not  a 
traveller  of  high  degree,  but  one  from  whom  he  might  ex- 
pect sympathy  and  assistance,  for  his  bundle,  suspended  at 
his  back  from  a  stick  over  his  shoulder,  declared  him  to 
be  of  his  own  class.  As  he  approached,  the  farmer  was 
startled  at  tracing  in  his  person  the  outlines  of  an  old  ac- 
quaintance, and  exclaimed,  "God  be  good  to  me!  but  if 
ever  he  was  alive  in  this  world  it's  Rory  O'More!" 

The  traveller  still  advanced ;  as  he  approached  his 
attention  became  riveted  by  the  appalling  sight  that 
crossed  his  path,  and  he  heeded  not  the  peasant  when  he 
came  to  a  stand  before  the  suspended  body,  until  his 
wonder  and  horror  had  been  so  far  recovered  as  to  turn 
his  eyes  upon  the  living  with  an  expression  of  inquiry  in 
their  silent  gaze,  which  was  met  by  one  of  a  similar  ex- 
pression on  the  part  of  him  he  looked  upon.  For  a  few 
seconds  the  two  men  stood  in  silence  ;  the  traveller  was  the 
first  to  speak. 

"  Why,  thin,  don't  you  know  me,  Coghlan  ? " 

"  May  the  Lord  save  us,  thin  !  and  is  it  you  that's  in  it  ? " 
said  the  farmer. 

"  Who  else  would  it  be  ?" 


RORY  O'MORE.  34t 

"Why,  thin,  Rory  O'More,  is  that  yourself  ?" 

"  Don't  you  see  it's  myself  ? " 

"  By  the  blessed  light !  I  didn't  know  whether  it  was 
you,  or  your  appearance  *  only  ;  surely  we  thought  you 
wor  dead.  Oh,  Queen  of  Heaven  !  and  where  were  you 
ever  sence  ? " 

"Sence  when  ?" 

"  Sence  your  disappearance — God  bless  my  soul." 

"Oh,  you  mane  when  the  vagabones  took  me  away." 

"  What  vagabones  ? " 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  about  it !  I  forgot.  But  will  you 
tell  me " 

"  Stop,  now,"  said  the  farmer,  "  Tell  me  God's  thruth, 
and  is  it  yourself,  Rory,  in  airnest  ?  for  it's  as  grate  a  sur- 
prise to  me  as  if  you  kem  from  the  dead." 

"  Give  us  your  fist,"  said  Rory,  advancing  to  take  the 
farmer's  hand,  which  was  almost  withdrawn  in  doubt  of 
the  mortal  identity  of  the  form  that  stood  before  him  ;  but 
the  warm  shake  of  Rory's  hand  dispelled  his  misgivings, 
aad  Rory  then  said  : 

"  In  the  name  o'  God  what's  this  I  see  ? "  and  he  pointed 
vO  the  gallows. 

"Why,  what's  so  wondherful  in  it  ?  Sure  they  hang  any 
one  they  like." 

"  Who  ?  "  said  Rory,  in  wild  wonder. 

"Ah,  I  forgot  you  wor  away  all  this  time,"  said  the 
farmer  ;  "  and,  indeed,  well  for  you  !  for  they're  bad  times 
for  poor  Ireland." 

"  Sure  I  heerd  they  wor  throubled  times,"  said  Rory  ; 
"but  I  thought  it  was  all  over  now." 

"  So  it  is,"  said  the  farmer,  despondingly.  "  It's  all 
over,  sure  enough  ;  and  we're  down  intirely." 

"  And  if  it's  all  over,  what's  this  for  ? "  said  Rory,  point- 
ing to  the  dead  man. 

"Oh,  that's  nothin',"  said  the  farmer,  with  along-drawn 
sigh. 

"  Nothing  !  "  exclaimed  Rory.  "  Is  is  nothing  you  say, 
to  hang  a  man  in  the  open  road  and  lave  him  there  like  a 
scarecrow  ? " 

"  Throth  that's  but  the  sweepings  d"  the  barft,  Rory  avic. 
Oh,  but  your  heart  would  bleed  if  you  knew  how  many  is 
dead  and  gone  sence  you  wor  here  !  " 

From  the  melancholy  tone  of  the  peasant's  manner, 
Rory's    apprehension    applied  to  it  a  meaning  touchinsT 

*  Apparition. 


322  RORY  O'MORE. 

himself,  and  clasping  his  hands,  he  said,  rvith  the  urgency 
of  terror  in  his  manner,  "  My  mother  and  Mary  ? — for 
God's  sake,  tell  me  the  truth  !  " 

"They're  safe,"  said  the  peasant. 

"  And  Kathleen  Regan  ?  " 

"  Safe,  too,  Rory." 

"  Thank  God  ! "  exclaimed  Rory  ;  and  the  tears  sprung 
to  his  eyes  at  this  sudden  transition  from  alarm  to  se- 
curity. 

When  he  recovered  his  tranquillity,  the  peasant  related 
the  circumstances  of  Solomon's  death,  and  besought  Rory 
to  assist  him  in  taking  down  the  corpse  from  where  the 
hangman  had  left  it. 

The  revolting  task  was  performed  ;  and  as  they  had  no 
immediate  means  of  sepulture  within  their  reach,  all  they 
could  do  was  to  lay  the  body  in  the  adjoining  field  ;  and 
the  peasant  once  more  yoked  his  horse  to  the  car,  which 
he  expressed  the  utmost  loathing  to  use  again. 

"  But  what  can  I  do  ?  "  said  he.  "I'm  too  poor  to  give 
it  up,  and  sure  the  blame  is  theirs,  and  not  mine.  But, 
wid  all  that,  I  can't  help  rememberin'  it  was  made  a 
gallows  of ;  and  here's  the  mark  o'  murder  on  it !  "  added 
the  peasant,  with  the  expression  of  disgust  on  his  coun- 
tenance, as  he  took  up  a  handful  of  straw  and  endeavored 
to  rub  from  the  body  of  the  car  a  few  drops  of  blood 
which  had  trickled  from  the  wound  the  pistol  shot  pro- 
duced. 

After  a  few  more  words  were  exchanged  between  the 
peasants,  they  bade  a  melancholy  farewell  to  each  other  ; 
and  with  a  low-toned  "  God  speed  you  !  "  which,  however, 
implied,  in  the  fervency  with  which  it  was  uttered,  that  they 
had  need  of  Heaven's  special  protection,  they  parted  and  ^ 
each  went  his  separate  way. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

In  which  Rory  Seeks  His  Home,  but  Finds  It  Not. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  oppression  at  his  heart  that 
Rory  parted  from  his  newly  found  acquaintance.  What 
he  had  seen  and  taken  part  in  was  enough  to  influence 
the  feelings  of  a  less  susceptible  person  ;  meeting  such  an 
Incident  almost  on  the  threshold  of  his  home  chilled  the 


i;:o7?y  o'more.  323 

warm  tide  of  anticipation  which  had  borne  him  onward 
in  beguilement  upon  his  return  to  his  native  place.  But 
his  mother  and  sister,  and  the  girl  of  his  heart,  he  was 
told,  were  safe  and  well ;  which  consoled  him  in  the  midst 
of  all  else  that  might  grieve  ;  and  yet,  though  knowing 
this,  Rory  was  not  as  happy  as  he  had  been  before  he  en- 
countered the  hateful  scene  he  had  left — as  when,  only  in 
the  hopefulness  of  his  own  nature  he  felt  at  the  end  of  a 
long  journey  every  mile  shorter  that  brought  him  nearer 
to  his  home. 

Then,  as  he  remembered  the  peasant's  alarmed  wonder 
at  seeing  him,  and  the  supposition  he  implied  to  be  a  gen- 
eral one — namely,  that  he  was  dead,  he  fell  into  a  train  of 
painful  thought  at  the  notion  of  how  much  his  mother  and 
sister  must  have  suffered  at  his  absence.  This  made  him 
resolve  also  to  approach  the  cottage  cautiously  ;  and  in 
case  chance  did  not  throw  in  his  way  some  means  of  ac- 
quainting those  he  loved  with  his  return,  he  cast  about  in 
his  own  mind  how  he  might  let  them  know  it  with  the 
least  possible  surprise,  should  he  himself  be  the  person  to 
inform  them.  "  I  must  purtend  to  be  a  beggar  or  some- 
thin'  that  way,  and  alther  my  voice,  and  spake  like  an  owld 
man,  and  stoop  and  hobble,  and  all,  that,  and  ask  them 
for  charity,  and  so  let  them  know  by  degrees." 

In  the  revolving  such  schemes  as  these  did  Rory  pursue 
the  road  homeward,  and  at  last  a  distant  gleam  of  the  river 
beside  his  native  hills  was  like  sunshine  to  his  heart,  and 
he  stretched  forward  at  a  brisker  pace,  to  lessen  the  dis, 
tance  between  him  and  the  little  boreen  and  the  hazel 
hedges  and  the  cottage  which  had  so  often  appeared  to 
him  in  his  dreams  while  he  was  away  ;  and  it  was  not  long 
until  the  lane  and  hedges  were  in  sight,  and  Rory  ran  for- 
ward, hurried  on  by  the  fervor  of  his  feelings.  When  he 
turned  into  the  lane,  he  crept  close  to  the  hedge  ;  and 
while  his  heart  thumped  at  his  side  with  eagerness,  he  ap- 
proached stealthily  toward  the  cottage,  lest  his  sudden  ap- 
pearance might  produce  alarm  ;  and  as  he  got  near  the  end 
of  the  lane,  where  the  view  of  his  native  hut  should  soon 
be  open  to  him,  he  paused  for  a  few  minutes  to  endeavor 
to  overcome  the  choking  sensation  of  anxiety  which  al- 
most suffocated  him,  and  made  him  tremble  from  head  to 
foot. 

At  last  he  determined  on  approaching  the  house  and 
making  himself  known  as  cautiously  as  he  could  ;  and 
emerging  from  the  shelter  of  the  hazels  he  walked  forward 


324  RORY   O'MORE. 

the  few  paces  that  opened  upon  him  the  gable  end  of  his 
little  cottage.  A  few  paces  more,  and  its  front  would  be 
revealed  ;  but  what  a  shock  for  the  heart  of  the  poor  wan- 
derer was  there  !  Instead  of  the  warm  thatch  he  had  left 
behind,  the  other  naked  gable  stood  staring  coldly  against 
the  sky,  and  two  or  three  ragged  rafters  crossed  each  other 
irregularly,  their  charred  blackness  too  plainly  telling  the 
fate  that  had  befallen  the  spot  of  his  nativity. 

He  was  petrified  with  horror  at  the  sight,  and  for  a  few 
seconds  the  very  stones  on  which  he  gazed  were  not  more 
senseless  than  he. 

On  recovering  himself  he  approached  the  murky  ruin 
in  hurried  and  unequal  steps,  occasionally  stopping  and 
exclaiming,  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  agony,  "  Oh,  God  !  " 
He  walked  round  and  round  it  as  if  he  dreaded  to  enter 
the  blackened  walls  ;  but  at  length  he  crossed  the  thresh- 
old, and  the  aspect  of  cold  loneliness,  where  he  had  left 
warmth  and  companionship,  fell  like  an  avalanche  upon 
his  heart,  and  a  long-drawn  groan  was  all  he  could  utter. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes,  he  turned  round  with 
a  bewildered  eye.  His  look  fell  upon  the  hearth  where  wet 
weeds  were  now  growing,  and- the  image  of  decay  in  that 
place  of  comfort  smote  him  so  touchingly  that  he  burst 
into  tears  and  wept  profusely  ;  it  relieved  the  heart  which 
was  full  nigh  to  bursting,  and  speech,  hitherto  frozen, 
thawed  at  the  melting  touch  of  tenderness. 

"  And  the  fire  is  not  there  ! — and  where  are  they  that  sat 
beside  it  ?  Where  are  they  ?  Oh,  my  God  !  my  God  !  my 
heart  will  break  !  And  he  towld  me  they  were  well.  Oh, 
why  did  he  desaive  me  ?  Poor  fellow,  poor  fellow  !  may  be 
he  hadn't  the  heart  to  tell  me.  Och  hone  !  och  hone  !  and 
is  this  what  I'm  come  home  to  !  Mother,  mother,  where 
are  you  ?  Mary  dear,  where  can  I  find  you  ?  or  are  you 
gone,  too,  and  am  I  alone  within  mine  own  walls,  with 
nothing  but  the  grass  on  the  threshold  ?  Oh,  father,  father, 
the  gravestone  over  you  is  not  so  bleak  as  these  blackened 
walls  to  me  !  Here,  where  I  was  nursed  and  reared,  and 
grew  up  in  love  and  tendherness  ;  here,  to  have  worse  than 
a  grave  to  come  to  !  Oh,  well  for  me  if  I  had  died,  and 
had  never  seen  this  day  !  " 

He  threw  himself  passionately  against  the  ruins  and 
wept  convulsively. 

After  some  moments  of  this  vehement  grief  he  looked 
once  more  upon  the  roofless  walls  around  him,  and  an  ex- 
pression of  intense  agony  again   passed   over  his  counts* 


RORY  O'MORE.  325 

nance  as  he  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  my  Kathleen,  and  where  are 
you  ?  are  you,  too,  without  a  house  and  home,  and  a  wan- 
dherer  on  the  world  ?  And  is  the  heart  that  adores  you 
only  come  back  to  break  over  your  ruined  cabin,  or,  may 
be,  your  grave  ?  Oh,  bitther  was  the  day  I  was  forced 
from  you,  to  lave  you,  without  the  heart  to  love  and  the 
hand  to  guard  you  !  Och  hone  !  och  hone  !  my  life's  a  load 
to  me  if  thim  I  love  has  come  to  harm  !  And  where  am  I 
to  turn  ? — where  am  I  to  find  thim  ?  I'm  a  sthranger  on 
the  spot  I  was  born  in,  and  the  fire  o'  my  own  hearth  is 
quenched." 

Again  he  looked  on  the  ruined  cabin,  the  fragments  of 
charred  rafters,  and  the  thick-growing  weeds  ;  and  though 
the  sight  made  his  blood  run  cold,  yet  he  could  not  leave 
the  spot ;  still  he  lingered  there,  making  some  fresh  out- 
pouring of  his  bitter  grief  as  some  new  association  was 
stirred  within  his  mind.  At  length  he  left  the  desolate 
spot,  and  returned  with  a  melancholy  step  up  the  little  bo- 
reen  ;  after  some  minutes  of  consideration  he  determined 
on  seeking  Phelim  O'Flanagan,  to  learn  from  him  the  ex- 
lent  of  misfortune  which  had  befallen  all  those  who  were 
dear  to  him. 

He  found  old  Phelim  at  home  ;  and  the  surprise  of  the 
poor  schoolmaster  was  extreme  at  the  appearance  of  Rory. 
The  first  moment  of  alarm  (for  such  his  emotion  amounted 
to)  being  past,  he  hugged  him,  and  wept,  and  prayed,  and 
thanked  God  for  the  restoration  of  his  own  boy,  as  he 
called  him,  over  and  over  again.  Rory's  instant  inquiries 
for  his  mother  and  sister,  and  Kathleen,  were  answered 
satisfactorily  ;  and  the  poor  fellow  dropped  on  his  knees, 
in  acknowledgment  of  Heaven's  mercies. 

"  Oh,  Phelim  !  a  Turk  would  have  pitied  me,"  said  Rory, 
"when  I  got  the  first  sight  of  the  cabin  all  tatthered  to 
pieces,  and  the  rafthers  blackened  with  the  fire  !  " 

''  Faith  he  would  be  a  Turk  for  sartin  if  he  didn't — the 
barbarian  savage  of  the  Arawbian  desarts  might  be  enlight- 
ened with  a  tindher  touch  of  pity  for  your  sufferin's  ;  for, 
though  he  has  no  house  nor  home  himself,  sure  it  'ud  be 
unnatharal  if  he  wouldn't  feel  the  loss  of  it  for  another — 
for,  though  he  lives  in  the  sands,  by  all  accounts,  and  we 
live  in  mud,  sure  it's  all  as  one,  barrin'  the  difference  of  the 
material — as  a  doiniis  is  a  doinus  howsomever  it  is  built.  Oh, 
to  see  the  owld  place  burnt  down  was  a  sore  sight  !  And 
how  did  you  feel  at  all,  Rory,  my  poor  fellow,  when  you 
seen  that  ? " 


o 


26  RORV   O'MORE. 


"  I  felt  as  if  my  own  heart  was  scorched,"  said  Rory. 

"  Faith,  that  is  as  complete  a  demonstheration  of  yout 
feelin's  as  you  could  make — Q.  E.  D." 

"  Will  you  bring  me  to  where  they  are  ? "  said  Rory. 

"  To  be  sure  I  will,  boy,  and  that  smart.  The  Lord  keep 
us,  how  they'll  be  surprised  !" 

''You  must  break  it  to  them,  Phelim,  for  fear  they  migbl 


get  a  fright 


L.      («,      i  A    »  W  »-•  •-• 

"  Sartinly,  I'll  expound  it  to  thim  by  degrees  ;  and  what 
with  a  dark  hint,  or  a  bright  coruscation  of  the  distant 
truth,  through  the  'newindos  I  will  give  thim '_' 

"  Arrah,  never  mind  the  windows,  man,  but  go  in  at  the 
door  at  wanst,  and  don't  keep  me  waitin'  long  without,  for 
my  heart  is  burstin'  till  I  hovvld  thim  to  it." 

"  I'm  not  talkin'  of  windows  nor  doors,  Rory  ;  but  I  say, 
that  it  is  by  distant  scintillations,  as  it  were,  that  they  must 
be  prepared  for  the  anticipation," 

"  Faith,  you  may  as  well  call  it  an  anticipation,  for  a  man 
to  be  taken  away  for  a  year  or  betther,  and  come  back  safe 
and  sound  afther  all." 

*'  Faith,  you're  a  wonderful  boy,  Rory,  sure  enough  !  you 
are  the  rale  rara  avis  in  terris.     How  they'll  be  astonished  !  " 

"  Make  haste,  Phelim  agra — I  think  every  minnit  an  hour 
till  we  go." 

"  We're  off  now,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  fastening  the 
door  of  his  little  hut,  and  leading  the  way. 

"  The  sun  is  low  already,  Rory  avic,  and  it  will  be  night 
before  we  get  to  Knockbrackin,  so  we  had  betther  take  to 
the  fields— for  as  the  martial  law  is  out  still,  we  must  keep 
off  the  road  as  much  as  we  can." 

"  Sure,  thin,  if  it's  in  Knockbrackin  they  are,  I'll  go  by 
myself,  and  don't  you  be  runnin'  risks,  Phelim." 

"Arrah,  Rory,  do  you  think  I'd  miss  seein'  the  pleasure 
that'll  be  in  it  this  night  wid  the  meeting  o'  yiz  all  ?  No 
in  troth — not  for  more  money  than  I  could  count,  though 
Gough  and  Vosthar  is  familiar  to  me  ;  so  come  along,  boy." 

"  God  bless  you,  Phelim  !  the  heart  is  warm  in  you." 

"  Thank  God,  and  so  it  is,"  said  Phelim.  "Though  I'm 
owld,  it's  not  cowld  ;  so,  there's  rhyme  and  rayson  for  you 
too.  Come  along  boy  " — and  the  old  man  led  the  way  at 
a  brisker  pace  than  usual,  the  ardor  of  good-nature  over' 
coraingf  the  languor  of  age. 


RORY   O'MORE.  327 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

Joy   Visits    the    House  of    Mourning,  but  Does    not  Seem  to  Like  Her 

Quarters. 

It  was  night  when  Phelim  and  Rory  reached  the  village. 
A  gentle  tap,  given  by  Phelim  at  the  door  of  a  cabin  stand- 
ing somewhat  apart  from  the  rest,  disturbed  its  inmates  from 
the  melancholy  occupation  in  which  they  were  engaged. 

Four  women  who  were  praying  beside  a  bed  of  straw 
whereon  the  dead  body  of  a  man  was  lying,  lifted  their 
tearful  eyes  at  the  sound,  and  paused  in  their  orisons. 
The  tap  at  the  door  was  repeated  ;  the  women  did  not 
speak,  but  exchanged  looks  of  alarm  with  each  other,  and 
more  carefully  screened  the  light  than  it  had  been  before  ; 
but  to  a  third  knock  they  arose  from  their  knees  and  con- 
sulted in  whispers  with  eacli  other. 

The  corpse  was  that  of  Shan  Regan  :  the  watchers  were 
his  mother  and  sister,  with  the  widow  O'More  and  Mary. 

The  rebels,  at  nightfall,  had  borne  their  fallen  compan- 
ion to  the  village,  that  the  last  offices  for  the  departed 
might  be  performed  by  his  family,  although  much  risk  at- 
tended the  doing  ;  but  the  waking  the  dead  is  held  so  sa- 
cred among  this  affectionate  people,  that  they  v/ere  willing 
to  incur  every  danger  rather  than  a  Christian  should  be 
consigned  to  the  ground  "  like  a  dog,"  as  they  said  them- 
selves. 

After  some  brief  consultation  the  women  assumed  as 
much  composure  as  they  could,  and  the  door  was  opened 
with  fear  and  trembling  ;  but  the  presence  of  old  Phelim 
restored  them  to  security.  On  his  observing  the  sad  faces 
around  him,  he  inquired  the  cause.  The  answer  was  not 
in  words  ;  but  Kathleen,  taking  his  hand  and  leading  him 
over  to  the  far  corner  of  the  cabin,  withdrew  a  blanket 
which  hung  before  the  candle  burning  beside  the  dead 
body,  and  saying,  "  Look  there  !"    relapsed  into  tears  ! 

The  women  caught  the  infection,  and  renewed  their 
lamentation,  while  Phelim  stood  silently  gazing  on  the  re- 
mains of  Shan  Regan. 

"  There  !  "  said  the  Widow  O'More — "  my  poor  owld 
neighbor  has  lost  her  son  as  well  as  me.  Oh,  aren't  we  to 
be  pitied  !  Though  she's  not  so  badly  off  after  all,  for  she 
knows  the  worst  at  laste,  and  has  him  to  do  the  last  duties 


328  RORY  O'MORE. 

by  him  ;  but  w^y  darlin' was  taken  from  me  unknownst,  and 
I'll  never  see  him  agin  !" 

"  Don't  be  so  despairing,  Mrs.  O'More,  my  dear  ;  you 
don't  know  but  you  may  have  your  son  restored  to  yoii 
yet." 

"  Never,  never  !  "  cried  the  widow. 

"There's  marvilous  conjunctions  sometimes,  my  dear 
ma'am,  wherein  the  Almighty  demonsthrates  his  dispinsa- 
tions  accordin'  to  His  own  blessed  will,  and  in  His  own 
good  time  ;  and  do  you  know  I  have  certain  misgivin's,  or 
I  may  say  lucubrations,  that  it  will  turn  out  your  son  will 
turn  up." 

The  widow  looked  at  the  schoolmaster  very  intently  as 
he  proceeded  with  his  speech,  and  though  not  clearly  un- 
derstanding him,  yet  through  the  mist  of  hard  words  caught 
at  his  meaning  ;  and  there  was  something  in  his  manner 
which  implied  so  much  of  assurance  that  she  held  her  eyes 
fixed  on  him  with  a  look  of  eager  inquiry  as  she  said  : 

"  Why,  then,  what  do  you  mane,  Phelim  ?  " 

"  I  mane  that  you  should  not  be  surprised  out  o'  your 
life  if  God  was  good  to  you  some  time  or  other  ;  and  no 
knowin'  the  day  or  the  hour  that  Rory  might  be  promis- 
cuously, as  I  may  say,  restored  to  us  in  an  individual  mari- 
ner, and  without  that  preparation  or  hallucination  requizit 
for  sudden  surprises  or " 

"Phelim,"  interrupted  Mary,  "I'm  sure  you've  heerd 
something,  or  you  wouldn't  talk  this  way,  and  come  here 
at  this  time  o'  night.  For  Heaven's  sake,  tell  us  at  wanst 
if  you  do  know  anything  of  Rory." 

Kathleen  had  been  attracted  as  well  as  Mary  by  Phelim's 
last  words,  and  was  so  overcome  by  agitation  as  to  sink  to 
a  seat,  and  her  eyes  being  turned  toward  the  door,  which 
stood  ajar,  became  suddenly  riveted  on  a  figure  in  the 
gloom  beyond  it— for  Rory  having  drawn  as  close  to  the 
entrance  as  he  could,  to  hear  the  sound  of  the  loved  voices 
within,  had  come  within  range  of  Kathleen's  eager  eye. 

Before  Phelim  could  answer  Mary's  adjuration  a  faint 
scream  from  Kathleen  called  Mary's  attention  upon  her, 
and  she  beheld  her  with  clasped  hands  and  fascinated 
gaze  looking  through  the  door,  as  she  exclaimed:  "  Great 
God,  he's  there  !  "—and  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands 
as  she  spoke,  and  fell  backward. 

Phelim  caught  her,  or  she  must  have  dropped  to  the 
ground  ;  while  Mary  and  her  mother  rushed  to  the  door, 
whose  threshold  Rory's  foot  had  just  crossed,  and  the  long 


/?0/?Y   O'MORE.  329 

lost  wanderer  was  clasped  at  the  same  instant  in  the  arms 
of  his  mother  and  sister.  After  a  long  and  tender  embrace 
of  each,  he  hastened  to  Kathleen,  wlio  still  kept  her  face 
covered.  Kneeling  beside  her,  Rory  besought  her  to  look 
upon  him,  and  gently  endeavored  to  withdraw  her  hands ; 
but  the  poor  girl  trembled  violently,  while  she  could  only 
breathe  in  long-drawn  sighs,  and  it  was  some  time  before 
her  lover  could  prevail  upon  her  to  behold  him.  Tremu- 
lously parting  her  hands,  she  looked  upon  Rory  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  again  screened  her  eyes,  as  though  the 
sight  of  him  had  been  sunshine  to  them  and  could  not  be 
supported  ;  but  in  that  one  look  there  was  so  much  of 
timorous  delight,  so  much  of  childlike  joy,  seeming  afraid 
almost  to  trust  its  own  happiness,  that  Rory's  heart  drank 
full  of  delight,  and  clasping  her  wildly  in  his  arms  he  ex- 
claimed:     "  She's  my  own — she's  my  own  !  " 

The  melting  girl  dropped  into  his  embrace,  and  as  her 
arms  hung  round  his  neck,  she  wept  as  she  had  wept  before 
for  her  brother. 

But  the  tears  were  not  from  the  same  source.  How 
wondrous  near  do  the  founts  of  joy  and  sorrow  lie  in  the 
human  heart  ! 

After  the  first  burst  of  welcome  and  joy  was  over,  Rory's 
eyes  fell  upon  the  figure  of  Kathleen's  mother  sitting 
silently  and  steadfastly  in  her  chair,  as  if  she  belonged  not 
to  the  scene — nor  did  she  ! — to  her,  her  dead  son  was 
dearer  than  her  daughter's  living  lover.  Her  head  was 
turned  away,  for  she  looked  upon  the  corpse  of  Regan, 
which  was  screened  from  Rory's  observation  ;  but  he,  ad- 
vancing toward  her  to  claim  her  welcome,  started  and 
stood  still  when  he  saw  the  object  of  her  melancholy  con- 
templation. He  turned  an  inquiring  glance  to  Mary  and 
Kathleen  ;  the  former  spoke  : 

"  Ah,  Rory,  you've  come  back  to  see  sore  trouble  !  " 

"He's  dead  now,  Rory,"  said  Kathleen.  The  few  words 
were  given  in  a  tone  which  spoke  a  history  ;  the  meaning 
travelled  over  the  past — it  spoke  of  injuries  inflicted,  of 
wrath  and  wrongs,  and  implied  that  forgiveness  was  the 
handmaiden  of  death.  Rory  felt  all  the  meaning,  but  his 
generous  heart  needed  not  the  appeal  ;  he  approached  the 
dead  body,  and  kneeling  beside  it,  took  the  lifeless  hand 
and  said  :  "  Shan — though  you  would  not  be  my  friend  in 
life,  we're  friends  now."  He  laid  the  hand  gently  down, 
and  raising  his  own  in  the  action  of  prayer,  said  fervently; 
"  May  his  soul  rest  in  glory  ;"  then,  rising  from  his  knees, 


330  RORY   O'MORE. 

he  approached  Kathleen,  who  flung  herself  in  a  passion  of 
tears  on  his  neck,  and  sobbed  forth  audibly:  "  God  bless 
you — God  bless  you,  Rory  !  " 

It  was  an  exciting  scene  which  that  cabin  exhibited. 
There  was  grief  over  the  dead,  and  joy  over  the  living; 
one  had  been  hurried  out  of  life,  and  another  returned  as 
if  from  the  grave.  Words  are  weak  in  comparison  with 
human  passion,  and  better  may  such  a  scene  be  conceived 
than  related. 

But  the  startling  adventures  of  the  day  and  night  were 
not  yet  over.  Information  had  been  conveyed  to  the 
yeomanry  corps  that  the  body  of  a  rebel  was  being  waked 
in  the  village  ;  and  whenever  such  an  event  took  place, 
they  always  sought  to  find  where  this  observance  to  the 
dead  was  performed,  for  the  purpose  of  discovering  those 
who  respected  a  rebel  so  far,  and  marking  them,  if  not  for 
vengeance,  at  least  for  surveillance. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  while  Rory  was  re- 
counting to  his  family  the  circumstances  of  his  mysterious 
disappearance,  that  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door  and  fierce 
demands  for  immediate  entry  alarmed  them.  Before  the 
door  could  be  unbarred  to  the  summons,  it  was  burst  open 
by  a  blow  from  the  butt-end  of  a  carbine,  and  Justice 
Slink,  followed  by  some  of  his  corps,  entered  the  cabin. 
The  scene  which  ensued  it  is  impossible  to  describe — there 
was  insult  to  the  living  and  the  dead,  and  Rory  was  laid 
violent  hands  on,  as  the  murderer  of  Scrubbs — to  explain 
at  such  a  moment  was  impossible  ;  every  attempt  he  made 
to  do  so  was  met  by  curses  and  blows  ;  and  he  was  dragged 
from  among  the  shrieking  women,  hurried  to  the  county 
jail,  and  committed  to  abide  his  trial  as  a  murderer. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

Containing  an  Explanatory  Letter. 


As  soon  as  De  Lacy  and  Rory  arrived  in  Dublin  from 
Bordeaux,  the  latter  lost  not  an  hour  in  proceeding  south- 
ward to  appease  the  yearnings  of  his  heart  after  home. 
But  De  Lacy  remained  in  the  capital  to  transact  various 
necessary  business  with  his  lawyers  respecting  his  newly- 
acquired  property. 

It  was  with  surprise  and  sorrow  he  received  the  follow- 


RORY  O'MORE.  y%t 

ing  letter  a  few  days  after  Rory's  departure  :  the  address 
ran  thus,  penned  in  a  round  text  : 

"  To  his  Honor  Horatio 
De  Lacy  Esquire  to  be  ' 

left  at  Counselr  Casey's 
Dominick  St.  Dublin." 

The  missive  was  closed  with  a  wafer  and  bore  the  im- 
pression of  a  thimble  by  way  of  seal,  and  when  handed  to 
De  Lacy  by  his  lawyer  on  his  entering  his  study,  excited 
no  small  surprise. 

''Who  the  deuce  can  this  be  from?"  said  De  Lacy, 
?urning  the  letter  over  three  or  four  times. 

The  lawyer  pointed  to  the  impression  of  the  thimble, 
and  giving  a  knowing  wink,  replied,  "You  soldiers  are 
terrible  fellows  among  the  girls  !  " 

"  We'll  see  what  fair  correspondent  this  is  from,"  said 
De  Lacy,  as  he  broke  the  seal.     These  were  the  contents : 

"  Honored  sir, — 

"Nemo  mortalium  in  omnibus  horis  sapit  as  is  iligantly 
remarked  by  the  Classicks  which  is  my  own  case  at  this 
present  writin  for  I  know  more  know  what's  to  be  done 
ihan  the  babe  unborn  in  the  regard  of  his  life  been  in  dan- 
ger as  they  will  liang  him  if  posable  unless  you  can  sthreck 
him  out  sum  way  to  purvint  it  been  surrounded  as  we  are 
I  may  say  with  truth  with  sarcumvallations  more  cutan- 
eous and  perplexn  then  the  Walls  of  Troy  or  the  Labyr- 
ynthus  of  Crete  where  the  miniature  was  kept  and  Diddle- 
us  himself  could  not  get  out  in  short  we  are  in  the  verry 
centre  of  a  hobble  and  wishes  you  to  know  it  knowin  youl 
be  plased  to  do  all  in  your  power  for  the  poor  boy  who 
they  tuk  to  jail  the  minit  he  came  home  from  the  poor 
women  who  is  brakin'  their  harts  and  they  wont  believe 
the  blaggards  I  mane  what  he  ses  about  it  but  wants  to 
make  out  he  murdhered  the  Killecthr  which  he  never  done 
God  knows  it  would  be  no  loss  and  this  is  to  insense  you 
on  that  same  and  ax  your  honor's  advice  which  is  no  good 
I'm  afeared  in  regard  of  the  villains  that  is  thirstin'  for  his 
blood  which  they  will  have  barrin'  it  can  be  saved  and 
knowin'  none  can  do  that  same  but  yourself  seein'  that  you 
are  a  gintleman  every  inch  o'  you  and  no  less  and  was  al- 
ways our  frind  and  his  frind  and  I  know  will  do  ail  mortial 
vnan  can  do  for  him  and  from  him  and  his  they  offer  you 
iheir  prayers  and  blessin's  as  of  owld  and  hopes  youl  stand 


t^* 


JiORY  O'MORE. 


lo  cnem  now  and  they  will  ever  pray  and  so  will  I  who  re- 
pects  your  honor  more  than  tongs  can  tell  for  minsuration 
could  not  measure  the  profundity  of  my  reverence  :;Qr 
your  honor  which  will  inkrase  in  a  jommethrical  ratio  to 
the  ind  of  Time. 

"  From  your  Honors 

"  Obagent  Sarvent 

"  To  Command, 

'•  Phelim  O'Flanagan, 
''Philomath." 

The  mingled  senses  of  the  ridiculous  and  the  serious 
which  this  letter  excited  produced  an  effect  upon  De  Lacy 
not  unnoticed  by  the  lawyer. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  that  you're  reading  ? " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  your  brow  and  your  mouth  are  playing  at 
cross-purposes  ;  for  while  gloom  sits  on  the  one,  mirth  is 
twitching  at  the  other." 

"The  face  is  the  index  of  the  mind,"  said  De  Lacy  ;  "  it 
is  a  true  saying.  There — read  that,  and  you'll  know  more 
about  the  matter  ; "  and  he  handed  him  the  letter. 

The  young  barrister  laughed  at  the  extraordinary  epistle, 
and  when  he  concluded  the  reading  of  it,  declared  it  to  be 
one  of  the  most  extraordinary  documents  which  had  ever 
come  under  his  inspection  ;  "but  in  one  respect,"  added 
he,  "  it  does  not  fulfil  your  representation  of  it." 

"  How  so  ?  "  asked  De  Lacy. 

"  You  said,  as  you  gave  it  to  me,  I  should  know  more  of 
the  business  ;  and  I  confess  I  am  yet  as  ignorant  on  that 
point  as  when  I  began.  You  who  are  acquainted,  I  sup- 
pose, with  the  circumstances  of  the  person  and  case  al- 
luded to,  may  be  enabled  to  make  a  guess  at  the  matter, 
but  to  a  stranger  it  is  perfectly  hieroglyphic." 

"Don't  you  see  they  have  taken  him  to  jail  on  a  charge 
of  murder  ?  " 

"  And  who  is  him,  pray  ?  " 

"  Rory  O'More,  to  be  sure — does  not  the  letter  say  so  ?" 

"  Indeed,  it  does  not — nor  one  tangible  fact.  You  may 
gtiess  what  all  this  extraordinary  composition  means  ;  but 
I  defy  anyone  to  arrive  at  any  knowledge  from  the  thing 
itself  ;  it  has  neither  mention  of  name  (except  the  magnil- 
oquent writer)  nor  of  distinct  fact,  nor  even  time  nor  place 
-specified.  Look  yourself  :  there  is  neither  date  nor  ad- 
dress." 


kORY  O'MORE.  33^ 

"  It  is  so,  I  perceive,  now  that  you  remark  it  ;  but  I  know 
whence  it  comes  and  to  what  it  alUides,  and  it  gives  me 
deep  concern." 

"  Let  us  see  the  post-mark,"  said  the  lawyer,  as  he 
turned  to  the  outside  of  the  letter.  "  Ha  ! — from  the 
South,  I  see." 

"  Yes,"  said  De  Lacy  ;  "that  is  the  post-town  of  the  dis- 
trict ;  so  far  right,  but  there  is  no  date  !  However,  it  mat- 
ters not  much,  for  'tis  but  a  few  days  since  the  poor  fellow 
left  me  for  home,  and  now  he  is  in  jail  on  a  charge  of 
murder,  of  which  I  know  he  is  innocent !  " 

"  Then  your  evidence  can  acquit  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  De  Lacy.  "  But  it  is  too  hard  an  in- 
nocent man  must  lie  in  jail  on  a  false  charge." 

"  He  will  not  lie  there  long,  for  they  make  short  work 
of  accusations  and  trials  now  ;  so  tell  me  all  about  it,"  said 
the  lawyer,  "  and  we'll  see  what  can  be  done." 

De  Lacy  then  entered  into  an  explanation  of  the  circum- 
stances connected  with  Rory^'s  and  the  collector's  abduc- 
tiouj  together  with  the  nature  of  his  first  connection  witla 
Rory  O'More,  and  the  cause  of  his  being  an  inmate  of  his 
cottage  ;  and  when  he  had  concluded,  the  barrister  shook 
his  head  and  said  it  was  an  awkward  affair. 

"  At  all  events,  I  will  at  once  go  to  the  South  and  see 
him." 

"  You  must  do  no  such  thing.  You  forget  the  state 
this  country  is  in  ;  and  after  all  you  have  told  me,  your 
presence  in  his  behalf  would  be  quite  enough  to  hang 
him." 

"  And  must  I  let  the  poor  fellow  lie  in  prison  without 
hope  or  comfort  ?  " 

"Certainly  not.  /will  see  him,  if  you  like  ;  and  there 
will  be  much  more  hope  for  him  in  that,  and  much  more 
comfort  to  you  and  him,  in  having  his  life  saved  through 
my  intervention  than  put  in  jeopardy  through  yours." 

"  Thanks  to  you,  my  dear  friend  ! "  said  De  Lacy. 
"  There  is  nothing  by  which  you  can  oblige  me  more  than 
by  an  immediate  attention  to  his  affair,  and  no  expense 
can  be  incurred  which  I  will  not  willingly  pay  for  the  poor 
fellow's  safety.  How  soon  can  you  go  down  ?  for  I  wish 
him  to  be  assured  as  quickly  as  possible  of  every  care 
being  taken  of  him." 

"There  is  no  time  to  be  lost  ;  for  special  commissions  are 
now  holden  all  over  the  country." 

"  I  tnust  <yQ  with  you,"  said  De  Lacy. 


334  RORY  O'MORE. 

"  I  insist  on  your  not  seeing  the  prisoner." 

"  To  that  I  submit ;  but  I  would  not  for  worlds  be  far 
away  from  him  at  such  a  time  ! — I  cannot  tell  you  how  I 
value  him  ;  I  may  say,  the  affection  I  have  for  him." 

"  Well,  you  may  come  down  with  me  to  the  town,  and 
remain  incog,  at  the  inn,  if  you  like  ;  but  I  assure  you,  if 
your  presence  in  the  country  becomes  known  to  the  pros- 
ecuting parties,  it  will  be  all  the  worse  for  your  friend 
Rory." 

"  I  will  be  as  cautious  as  you  can  desire — in  short  I  will 
put  myself  quite  under  your  control." 

"Very  well,  then  ;  we'll  start  the  day  after  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 
Rory  Indulges  in  Gloomy  Anticipations. 

When  De  Lacy  and  his  friend  reached  the  town  where 
Rory  was  confined,  the  lawyer  lost  not  a  moment  in  visit- 
ing the  prisoner,  making  himself  possessed  of  the  facts  of 
his  case,  and  assuring  him  of  every  care  being  taken  of  him 
by  De  Lacy,  "  who  would  in  person  have  told  you  all  this," 
said  the  barrister,  "  but  that  I  recommended  him,  consider- 
ing the  state  the  country  is  in,  not  to  show  himself  in  this 
business,  as  it  would  only  do  more  harm  than  good  ;  but  he 
is  in  the  town,  O'More,  as  he  is  most  anxious  to  know  the 
result  of  the  trial,  the  moment  it  is  over." 

"God  bless  him  !"  said  Rory;  "he  was  always  good 
and  kind  to  me  ;  and  tell  him,  if  you  plaze,  sir,  that  I'm 
sinsible  of  all  he's  done  for  me,  and  even  if  I  should  die,  I 
won't  forget  it  afl  the  same." 

"  It  would  puzzle  you  to  remember  it  after  you  die, 
O'More.  But  banish  such  melancholy  thoughts,  my  man 
— don't  think  of  dying." 

"  'Faith,  I  hear  it's  a  bad  chance  with  any  poor  fellow 
who  comes  here  of  late,  since  the  bad  times.  I  hear  they 
come  in  at  the  door,  and  go  out  at  the  window  with  a  bal- 
kinny  that  has  a  very  unsafe  bottom  to  it  ;  and  for  fear 
they  should  hurt  themselves  in  tumblin'  through  it,  they 
tie  a  bit  o'  sthring  to  thim,  to  brake  the  fall." 

The  lawyer  could  not  suppress  a  smile  at  this  ludicrous 
description  of  the  fatal  drop  which  Rory  looked  forward 
to  as  his  new  means  of  exit,  but  in  a  gentle  and  soothing 


RORY  O'MORE.  335 

tone,  desired  him  to  be  of  good  cheer,  and  not  to  let  his 
heart  fail  him. 

"  Tut,  sir  !  don't  think  I  fear  to  die  bekaze  I  spake  it— I 
don't  desarve  death,  and  it  won't  be  my  portion  if  I  get 
fair  plav ;  but,  livin'  or  dyin',  I'm  ready  to  prove  myself  a 
man,  and  I'm  sure  my  poor  mother  and  sisther  will  always 
have  a  good  friend  in  Misther  De  Lacy,  and  so  my  mind's 
aisy  on  that  score  ;  and  as  for  dyin',  a  man  must  die  some 
time  or  other,  and  whenever  I'm  called  I'll  not  flinch." 

"  Right,  Rory  ! — that's  like  the  philosophers." 

"  I  dunna  who  Mm  wor  ;  but  it's  like  a  man,  anyhow." 

"  Good-by,  O'More  ! — I'll  see  you  again,"  said  the  law- 
yer, as  he  left  him. 

On  his  return  to  De  Lacy,  he  expressed  a  good  deal  of 
fear  as  to  the  difficulty  of  Rory's  case,  and  acknowledged 
that  circumstances  bore  hardly  against  him. 

"  I  can  prove  he  was  taken  away  by  force." 

"  And  how  will  you  account  for  your  own  disappear- 
ance to  France  ?  The  mere  fact  of  your  going  there  con- 
victs you  of  doing  what  your  own  life  might  pay  the  forfeit 
of." 

"  No  matter,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  if  my  testimony  can  bene- 
fit Rory.  Do  you  think  I  would  live  at  the  expense  of 
that  fine  fellow's  life  ?" 

"  Certainly  not ;  but  you  cannot  prove  anything  in  his 
favor." 

"  Yes,  I  can  ;  I  know  the  collector  was  not  murdered, 
but  was  alive  in  De  Welskein's  lugger  when  I  took  Rory 
out  of  his  hands." 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?" 

"No." 

"  Then  you  cannot  prove  anything  doing  him  a  pin's 
point  of  service — you  perceive  you  can't." 

De  Lacy  was  obliged  to  admit  the  truth  of  this,  and  by 
dint  of  great  persuasion  on  the  part  of  his  friend  was  in- 
duced to  keep  himself  incog,  at  the  inn  ;  for  nothing  but 
the  assurance  of  his  presence  in  the  country  being  detri- 
mental to  Rory  could  have  restrained  him  from  visiting 
his  prison,  and  also  going  to  offer  comfort  to  his  mother 
and  sister. 

It  is  needless  to  dwell  on  the  interval  which  elapsed  be- 
tween this  period  and  Rory's  trial,  to  which  De  Lacy  looked 
forward  with  feverish  anxiety  scarcely  exceeded  by  those 
of  his  own  blood  or  even  poor  Kathleen  ;  and  when  the 
anxious  dav  arrived  which  was  to  determine   Rory's  fate, 


33^  RORY  O'MORE. 

De  Lacy  pressed  the  hand  of  the  friendly  lawyer,  on  his 
leaving  him  to  go  to  the  court,  with  a  parting  appeal  to 
use  every  exertion,  and  an  aspiration  to  Heaven  for  his 
success. 

"There  is  one  thing  in  the  poor  fellow's  favor,  how- 
ever," said  the  barrister ;  "  he  appears  before  a  merciful 
judge  ;  Lord  A — n — e  sits  on  this  commission." 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

The  Glorious  Privilege  of  Trial  by  Jury. 

The  court  was  crowded  on  the  day  of  Rory's  trial ;  the 
galleries  were  occupied  by  the  gentry  for  many  miles 
round,  and  all  the  magistrates  of  the  district  were  in  at- 
tendance ;  Justice  Slink,  the  most  important  of  the  num- 
ber. Sweeny  was  beside  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution, 
and  as  busy  as  his  mischievous  and  meddling  nature  could 
desire.  Close  beside  the  front  of  the  dock  stood  three 
women  whose  anxious  countenances  at  once  proclaimed 
them  deeply  interested  in  the  prisoner,  for  at  every  fresh 
movement  in  the  court  they  turned  their  eyes  toward  the 
dock  in  the  expectation  of  beholding  him.  They  were 
Rory's  mother,  his  sister,  and  Kathleen.  At  length  to  the 
summons  of  "  Make  way  there,  make  way ! "  the  croAvd 
swayed  to  and  fro  ;  the  drawing  of  heavy  bolts  was  heard, 
the  door  of  the  dock  opened,  and  Rory  O'More,  in  cus- 
tody of  the  jailer,  entered  the  place  of  peril. 

"  Oh,  my  darlin',  my  darlin'  !  "  cried  his  mother,  in  a 
heart-breaking  tone,  as  she  rushed  to  the  bar  and 
stretched  her  hand  over  it  toward  her  boy,  who  came  for- 
ward and  clasped  it. 

"  Stand  back  !  "  said  one  of  the  constables  before  the 
bar,  restraining  the  widow. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  so  hard-hearted  !  "  said  she. 

"  You  must  stand  back  !  " 

"Just  let  me  give  him  one  kiss! — I  haven't  seen  him 
these  three  weeks." 

"  Silence  in  the  court  !  "  thundered  the  crier  ;  "  hats 
off — room  for  my  lord  the  judge  !  " 

Lord  A now  appeared  upon  the  bench,  and  some  of 

the  magistrates  took  their  seats  also.  Slink  was  at  his 
side   and  appeared  to  be  more  officious  than  was  agree 


RORY  O'MORE.  337 

able.  The  jury  was  now  sworn  ;  and  as  no  challenges 
v/ere  made,  the  judge  asked,  had  the  prisoner  no  counsel. 
Being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  ordered  the  trial  to 
proceed. 

While  these  preliminaries  were  going  forward,  Mary 
O'More  and  Kathleen  were  exchanging  signs  of  affection 
with  Rory,  who  returned,  to  their  clasping  of  hands  and 
upraised  and  tearful  eyes  (expressive  of  their  prayers  to 
the  Almighty  for  his  safety)  a  bright  look  of  confidence, 
and  even  a  smile,  not  of  levity,  but  of  tenderness  ;  such  as 
offended  not  against  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion,  but 
was  meant  to  inspire  those  he  loved  with  hope. 

To  the  indictment  the  women  listened  with  breathless 
anxiety  ;  and  its  various  counts,  repetitions,  and  involve- 
ment, puzzled  them  so  excessively,  that  they  at  last  began 
to  doubt  whether  what  was  going  forward  was  in  any  way 
connected  with  Rory,  and  their  sense  of  hearing  became 
blunted  to  the  monotonous  terms  of  the  rigmarole  that 
was  being  read,  till  they  were  startled  from  their  quiet  by 
a  sudden  call  of  "  Prisoner  at  the  bar."  They  looked  al- 
ternately between  the  clerk  and  Rory  while  the  formula 
of  asking  the  prisoner  what  he  pleaded  was  gone  through  ; 
and  after  Rory's  declaration  of  his  innocence  in  the  legal 
form,  the  trial  commenced. 

The  counsel  for  the  prosecution  made  a  flaming  speech. 
The  exordium  consisted  of  the  worn-out  commonplaces 
of  the  day,  about  the  demon  of  revolution,  the  hydra  fac- 
tion— of  the  times  teeming  with  terror  and  torrents  of 
blood.  He  then  reminded  the  jury  of  the  rebellion  which 
had  only  just  been  put  down,  and  congratulated  himself, 
and  them,  and  every  loyal  man,  that  their  throats  were  left 
uncut  to  "  proclaim  the  proud  pre-eminence  of  their  glo- 
riousu  constitution,  and  to  denounce  the  ruffian  rabble  that 
souo;ht  its  overthrow."  He  then  came  to  the  facts  of  the 
case  before  them — representing  Scrubbs  as  "  an  amiable 
and  worthy  gentleman,"  torn  from  the  bosom  of  his 
family,  and  savagely  slaughtered  by  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar.  "  The  disappearance  of  Mr.  Scrubbs,  gentlemen,  must 
be  fresh  in  all  your  memories  ;  but  I  think  it  necessary 
to  remind  you  of  the  principal  points  which  will  appear  in 
evidence,  and  I  feel  confident  that  not  a  shadow  of  doubt 
will  remain  upon  your  minds  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar 
has  been  guilty  of  the  most  flagrant,  flagitious,  bloody,  and 
mysterious  murder."  He  then  went  over  the  details  very 
minutely,  and  wrought  such  a  case   out  of  the   circum- 

23 


.,8  RORY  O^MORE. 

stances  (which  were  of  themselves  sufficiently  suspicious 
to  put  Rory's  life  in  jeopardy  in  the  best  of  times),  that 
when  he  sat  down  everyone  in  the  court  gave  up  poor 
Rory  for  lost,  and  his  mother  murmured  in  a  low  moan  as 
she  wrung  her  hands,  "  He's  gone,  he's  gone  !  my  darlin's 
gone  !  they'll  ha've  his  life,  they  will !  " 

The  counsel  for  the  prosecution  next  commenced  his 
examination  of  witnesses.  Justice  Slink,  Sweeny,  and 
others  who  examined  the  glen  of  the  Folly,  swore  to  the 
finding  of  the  crow-bar  near  the  ruins,  the  appearances  of 
a  struggle  upon  the  spot,  etc.,  etc.  Larry  Finnegan  was 
then  called  to  identify  the  crow-bar  as  the  one  he  had 
given  to  Rory  upon  the  day  of  Scrubbs'  disappearance  ; 
he  was  also  questioned  as  to  the  previous  meeting  of 
Scrubbs  and  Rory  at  the  Black  Bull,  and  their  departure 
thence  in  company  ;  but  Larry's  anxiety  was  so  great  to 
avoid  saying  anything  which  would  prejudice  Rory,  that 
he  did  more  harm  than  good  by  his  hesitation,  and  the 
prosecuting  counsel  called  the  attention  of  the  jury  to  the 
disinclination  the  witness  had  to  disclose  the  truth. 
'  You  see  plainly  he  wants  to  save  the  prisoner."    . 

"  Arrah,  thin,  do  you  want  me  to  swear  away  his  life  ? " 
iaid  Finnegan.     "  Faith,  I'd  be  sorry  to  do  that ! " 

"  God  bless  you  !  "  said  the  poor  mother. 

"  Silence  in  the  court !  "  roared  the  crier. 

"  You  hear  him,  gentlemen  ? "  said  the  prosecuting  coun- 
sel. 

"  For  God's  sake  !  "  said  Rory  from  the  dock,  "  tell  the 
whole  truth  and  I'm  not  afeard." 

"  Prisoner,  be  silent !  "  said  the  counsel. 

Lord  A — -  cast  a  searching  glance  upon  Rory,  whose 
demand  for  the  whole  truth  seemed  to  impress  his  lordship 
favorably  ;  and  his  bright  and  open  look  also  pleaded  for 
him,  in  the  judge's  benevolent  heart. 

The  evidence  proceeded. 

Counsel.  You  say  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  and  the  late 
Mr.  Scrubbs 

The  counsel  for  the  defence  here  interposed,  and  said 
he  objected  to  the  term,  the  late  Mr.  Scrubbs,  as  it  was 
assuming  the  fact  he  was  dead,  which  was  not  proven. 
The  examination  then  proceeded. 

Counsel.  The  prisoner  at  the  bar  and  the  late — I  beg 
pardon— J/wZ-^r  Scrubbs  were  the  last  to  leave  the  Black 
Bull  on  that  day  ? 

Witness.  Yis,  sir. 


J^O/^V  O'MORE. 


539 


Counsel.  How  did  they  go  ? 

Witness.  They  wint  out  o'  the  door,  sir. 

Counsel.  I  don't  suppose  they  went  out  of  the  window. 
I  mean,  did  they  leave  about  the  same  time  ? 

Witness.   They  wint  together,  sir. 

Counsel.  Both  out  of  the  door  at  once  ? 

Witness.   No,  Mr.  Scrubbs  wint  first. 

Counsel.  And  the  prisoner  after  ? 

Witness.   Yis. 

Counsel.   Then  he  followed  him  ? 

Witness.  Yis. 

Counsel.  You  observe,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  Mr.  Scrubbs 
went  first,  and  the  "prisonQv  followed  him. 

Witness.  Why,  you  wouldn't  have  him  go  before  the  gin- 
tleman  ! 

Counsel.  Silence,  sir !  Remember  that,  gentlemen — he 
followed  Mr,  Scrubbs. 

There  was  a  good  deal  more  of  examination  which  it 
would  be  uninteresting  to  record  ;  and  after  the  landlord 
of  the  Black  Bull  had  been  bullied  and  tormented  as  much 
as  the  counsel  chose,  he  said,  "You  may  go  down,  sir." 

Larry  Finnegan,  delighted  to  escape,  scrambled  from 
the  witness'  chair,  and  was  rushing  off  the  table,  when 
Rory's  counsel  interposed  and  said,  "  I  beg  your  pardon — 
don't  go  down  yet." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  the  counsel  for  the  crown,  '^ you  want  to 
cross-examine  him,  do  you  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  have  a  right^  sir,"  was  the  young  barrister's 
reply. 

"  Why,  sure,  what  crosser  examination  can  you  gi'  me 
than  the  one  I  got?"  said  poor  Finnegan. 

"Sit  down,  sit  down,  my  man,"  said  the  counsel,  en- 
couragingly. "Now,  don't  be  in  a  hurry,  don't  be 
alarmed  ;  take  your  time  and  answer  me  quietly  a  few  ques- 
tions I  shall  ask  you.  You  say  some  conversation  passed 
between  the  prisoner  and  Mr.  Scrubbs  at  your  house  ? 

Witness.  Yis,  sir — they  wor  spakin'  together  for  some 
time. 

Counsel.  I  think  you  mentioned  that  Mr.  Scrubbs  asked 
the  prisoner,  was  he  going  home  ? 

Witness.   He  did,  sir. 

Counsel.  And  the  prisoner  was  going  home  ? 

Witness.  Yis,  sir. 

Counsel.  Mr.  Scrubbs'  road  home  lay  the  same  way,  I 
believe  ? 


340 


RORY   O' 31  ORE. 


Witness.   It  did,  sir. 

Counsel.  Then  he  and  the  prisoner  could  not  help  going 
the  same  road  ? 

Witness.  They  could  not,  sir. 

Counsel.  Mr.  Scrubbs  went  out  of  the  door  first  ? 

Witness.  Yis,  sir. 

Counsel.  And  the  prisoner  after  ? 

Witness.  Yis,  sir. 

Counsel.   Immediately  ? 

Witness.  That  minit. 

Counsel.  Then,  what  do  you  mean  by  saying  he  followed 
him  ? 

Witness.  I  mane,  he  folly'd  him  the  way  a  poor  man 
would  folly  a  gintleman,  of  coorse. 

Counsel .  I  beg  your  attention,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  to 
this  explanation  of  the  witness's  meaning,  upon  which  the 
opposite  counsel  has  put  a  false  construction.  Was  the 
crow-bar  you  gave  the  prisoner  his  or  yours  ? 

Witness.  It  was  his,  sir ;  he  lint  it  to  me,  and  kem  that 
day  to  ax  for  it. 

Counsel.  He  came  to  ask  for  it,  did  he  ? — then  it  was  for 
that  particular  purpose  he  went  to  your  house  that  day  ? 

Witness.   It  was,  sir. 

Counsel.  Before  he  saw  Mr.  Scrubbs  at  all  ? 

Witness.  Yis,  sir. 

Counsel.  I  beg  you  to  remember  this  also,  gentlemen  of 
the  jury.     You  may  go  down,  witness. 

Larry  Finnegan  again  attempted  to  descend  from  the 
table,  but  was  interrupted  by  the  counsel  for  the  prosecu- 
tion, and  the  look  of  despair  which  the  countenance  of 
mine  host  of  the  Black  Bull  assumed  was  almost  ludicrous. 

"  Is  it  more  you  want  o'  me  ?  "  said  he. 

Counsel.  A  few  questions.     Sit  down. 

Larry  scratched  his  head,  and  squeezed  his  hat  harder 
than  he  had  done  before,  and  resumed  his  seat  in  bitter- 
ness of  spirit ;  but  his  answers  having  latterly  all  gone 
smooth,  he  felt  rather  more  self-possessed  than  he  had 
done  under  his  previous  examination  by  the  prosecuting 
counsel,  and  his  native  shrewdness  was  less  under  the  con- 
trol of  the  novel  situation  in  which  he  was  placed.  The 
bullying  barrister,  as  soon  as  the  witness  was  seated,  be- 
gan in  a  thundering  tone,  thus  : 

Counsel.  Now,  my  fine  fellow,  you  say  that  it  was  for  the 
particular  purpose  of  asking  for  his  crow-bar  that  the 
prisoner  went  to  your  house  .'' 


RORY  O'MORE.  34t 

Witness.  I  do. 

Counsel.   By  virtue  of  your  oath  ? 

Witness.    By  the  varth  o'  my  oath. 

Counsel  {slapping  the  table  fiercely  with  his  hand).  Now,  sir, 
how  do  you  know  he  came  for  that  purpose  ?  Answer  me 
that,  sir  ! 

Witness.  Faith,  thin,  I'll  tell  you.  When  he  came  into 
the  place  that  morning,  it  was  the  first  thing  he  ax'd  for  ; 
and^by  the  same  token,  the  way  I  remember  it  is,  that 
when  he  ax'd  for  the  crow-bar  he  lint  me,  some  one  stan'in' 
by  ax'd  what  /  could  want  with  a  crow-bar  ;  and  Rory 
O'More  with  that  said  it  wasn't  me  at  all,  but  the  misthriss 
wanted  it  (Mrs.  Finnegan,  I  mean).  "And  what  would 
Mrs.  Finnegan  want  wid  it  ?  "  says  the  man.  "  Why,"  says 
Rory,  "  she  makes  the  punch  so  sthrong,  that  she  bent  the 
spoon  sthrivin'  to  stir  it,  and  so  she  borrowed  the  crow-bar 
to  mix  the  punch." 

A  laugh  followed  this  answer,  and  even  Rory  could  not 
help  smiling  at  his  own  joke  thus  retailed  ;  but  his  mother 
and  Mary  and  Kathleen,  looked  round  the  court,  and 
turned  their  pale  faces  in  wonder  on  those  who  could 
laugh  while  the  life  of  him  they  adored  was  at  stake,  and 
the  sound  of  mirth  at  such  a  moment  fell  more  gratingly 
on  their  ears  than  the  fierce  manner  of  the  bullying  prose- 
cutor. 

But  the  witness  was  encouraged,  for  he  saw  his  examiner 
annoyed,  and  he  took  a  hint  from  the  result,  and  lay  in 
wait  for  another  opportunity  of  turning  the  laugh  against 
his  tormentor.  He  was  not  long  in  getting  such  an  open- 
ing ;  and  the  more  he  was  examined  in  hope  of  shaking 
his  testimony,  the  less  the  prosecutor  gained  by  it.  At 
length  the  counsel  received  a  whisper  from  Sweeny,  that 
the  fellow  was  drunk. 

"  He  has  his  wits  most  damnably  about  him,  for  all 
that,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  He  has  been  drinking  all  the  morning — I  can  prove 
it,"  said  Sweeny  ;  "  and  you  may  upset  his  testimony,  if  you 
like,  on  that  score." 

"  I'll  have  a  touch  at  him,  then,"  said  the  lawyer. 

When  the  jury  perceived  the  same  witness  still  kept  on 
the  table,  and  a  re-examination  for  the  prosecution  entered 
upon,  they  became  wearied,  and  indeed  no  wonder  ;  for 
the  silk-gowned  gentleman  became  excessively  dull  ;  and, 
had  he  possessed  any  tact,  must  have  perceived,  from  the 
demeanor  of  the  jury,  that  his  present  course  of  proceeding 


342  RORY  O'MORE. 

was  ill-timed  ;  yet  he  continued  ;  and,  in  violation  of  all 
custom,  sought  to  invalidate  the  testimony  of  the  man  he 
himself  had  called  as  a  witness  ;  but  Larry's  cross-examin- 
ation having  favored  the  prisoner,  the  crown-counsel  be- 
came incensed,  and  abandoned  all  ceremony  and  discretion, 
which  at  length  was  noticed  by  the  bench. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lord,  but  I  am  anxious  to  sift 
this  witness." 

"  By  gor  !  "  said  Finnegan,  "  if  you  wor  to  sift  me  from 
this  till  to-morrow,  the  devil  a  grain  more  you'll  get  out  o' 
me  ! — and  indeed  you've  been  gettin'  nothin'  but  chaff  for 
the  last  half  hour." 

The  answer  had  so  much  of  truth  in  it  that  the  counsel 
became  doubly  annoyed  at  the  suppressed  laugh  he  heard 
around  him  ;  and  then  he  determined  to  bring  up  his  heavy 
artillery,  and  knock  Larry  to  atoms. 

Counsel.  Now,  sir,  I've  just  a  question  or  two  that  you'll 
answer  by  virtue  of  your  oath. 

The  Bench.   Really,  Mr. 

Counsel.  I  beg  your  lordship's  pardon — but  it  is  abso- 
lutely important.  Now,  by  virtue  of  your  oath,  haven't 
you  been  drinking  this  mornin'  1 

Witness.   To  be  sure  I  have. 

Counsel.  How  much  did  you  drink  ? 

Witness.  Faith,  I  don't  know ;  I  never  throuble  my- 
self keepin'  count,  barrin'  I'm  sarvin'  the  customers  at 
home. 

Counsel.  You  took  a  glass  of  whiskey  before  breakfast,  of 
course  ? 

Witness.  And  glad  to  get  it ! 

Coimsel.  And  another  after  ? 

Witness.  Av  coorse — when  it  was  to  be  had. 

Counsel.  When  you  came  into  the  town,  you  went  to  a 
public-house,  I  hear,  and  were  drinking  there,  too,  before 
you  came  into  court  ? 

Witness.  Oh,  jist  a  thrifle  among  some  friends. 

Counsel  What  do  you  call  a  trifle  ? 

Witness.   Four  pots  o'  porther  and  a  quart  o'  sper'ts. 

Counsel  Good  God  !  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  listen  to 
this  :  a  gallon  of  porter  and  a  quart  of  whiskey  ! 

Witness.  Oh,  but  that  was  betune  six  iv  uz  ! 

Counsel.  Then,  sir,  by  your  own  account  you're  drunk  at 
this  moment  ? 

Witness.  Not  a  bit. 

Counsel.  On  your  oath — remember  your  oath,  sir — d<j 


RORY  O'MORE. 


343 


you  think,  after  drinking  all  you  yourself  have  owned  to, 
you  are  in  a  state  to  give  evidence  in  a  court  of  justice  ? 

Witness.   Faith,  I  think  a  few  glasses  only  helps  to  brighten 

a   man  !    and,    betune  ourselves.   Counsellor ,  I   think 

you'd  be   a  grate  dale   the  better  of  a  ^■^i.ss  yourself  this 
minit. 

The  laugh  which  this  rejoinder  produced  finished  the 
*'  counsellor,"  and  he  sat  down  without  roaring,  as  usual,  at 
the  witness,  ''Go  down,  sir."  But  Larry  kept  his  seat 
until  the  laugh  was  over,  and  not  receiving  the  ordinary 
mandate  to  retire,  he  looked  at  the  discomfited  barrister 
with  the  most  provoking  affectation  of  humility,  and  said, 
"  Do  you  want  me  any  more,  sir  ?  " 

This  renewed  the  laugh,  and  Finnegan  retired  from  the 
table  under  the  shadow  of  his  laurels. 

After  some  more  stupid  examination  of  other  witnesses, 
and  tedious  blundering  on  the  part  of  this  legal  wiseacre, 
the  case  for  the  prosecution  closed,  and  Rory's  counsel 
commenced  his  defence. 

After  some  preliminary  observations  on  the  manner  in 
which  the  case  had  been  conducted  on  the  other  side,  and 
the  disingenuousness  exhibited  by  his  "  learned  friend  "  in 
endeavoring  to  pervert  the  meaning  of  some  of  the  wit- 
nesses— among  others,  tliat  of  the  landlord  of  the  Black 
Bull — the  counsel  requested  the  jury  to  divest  the  evidence 
of  the  mystery  which  had  been  studiously  thrown  around 
it,  until  he  had  stripped  it  by  cross-examination  to  its  pure 
and  simple  state  ;  and  in  that  state  he  begged  of  them  to 
look  upon  it.  "It  is  the  more  necessary,  gentlemen," 
said  he,  "  because  it  is  a  case  of  circumstantial  evidence  ; 
and  it  behooves  you  to  weigh  such  evidence  most  scrupu- 
lously, when  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature  depends  upon  it. 
This  is  doubly  necessary  in  this  case,  inasmuch  as  the 
prisoner  stands  in  a  painfully  perplexing  situation,  by  hav- 
ing no  means  of  rebutting  the  charges  against  him  by  con- 
trarv  living  evidence,  all  the  persons  bearing  a  part  in  the 
transaction  wherein  he  was  forcibly  carried  away  being 
dead  or  beyond  our  reach  ;  for  you  know,  gentlemen,  how 
many  lives  have  been  sacrificed  within  the  brief  but  terrible 
period  through  which  we  have  just  passed  !  I  will  pro- 
duce, however,  in  evidence  an  examination  sworn  to  before 
a  magistrate  who  is  now  in  this  court,  by  one  Solomon 
Slevin,  since  dead." 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,"  said  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution, 
"  he  is  dead  indeed^  for  he   has  been  hanged  since    he 


344  RORY  O'MORE. 

swore  it,  so  you  may  guess  how  much  his  deposition  is 
worth." 

The  young  barrister,  thus  interrupted*^  turned  an  indig- 
nant and  reproachful  look  on  the  crown  lawyer  as  he  sat 
down,  and  said,  "  I  cannot  help  remarking  that  I  never 
met  a  more  ungenerous  observation  in  the  course  of  my 
practice."  Then  turning  to  the  jury,  he  continued  :  "  You 
have  been  told,  gentlemen,  with  a  view  of  prejudicing  the 
evidence  I  have  put  in,  that  the  person  who  deposed  to 
the  facts  therein  contained — facts,  gentlemen,  that  must 
acquit  my  client — I  repeat  it,  that  must  acquit  him  in  the 
minds  of  unprejudiced  men,  as  I  am  sure  you  will  prove 
yourselves  to  be — you  have  been  told,  I  say,  that  that  person 
was  since  hanged  ;  but  I  will  ask  the  learned  gentleman 
who  has  so  cruelly  endeavored  to  destroy  the  only  hope  of 
life  my  client  has  left — I  will  ask  him,  since  he  provokes 
the  question,  was  that  person  legally  hanged  ?  He  will  not 
answer  that,  gentlemen — he  cannot — he  dare  not  ;  and  if 
that  person  suffered  death  illegally,  it  is  monstrous  that  the 
fact  should  be  put  forward  in  a  court  of  justice,  to  support 
the  course  of  law  of  which  the  fact  itself  was  a  flagrant 
violation." 

"  He  deserved  hanging,"  interrupted  the  counsel  for  th& 
crown. 

"You  are  told  he  deserved  hanging,  gentlemen  ;  but  be 
fore  you  give  a  verdict  on  that  assertion,  I  expect  you  will 
ask,  did  the  punishment  result  from  the  verdict  of  a  jury 
and  the  sentence  of  a  judge  ?  And  if  it  did  not,  I  trust, 
gentlemen,  you  will  not,  by  receiving  such  evidence,  vio- 
late the  sanctuary  of  justice  by  letting  a  man's  life  depend 
on  individual  opinion,  nor  take  a  receipt  in  full  for  human 
blood  from  the  hands  of  any  man,  even  a  justice  of  the 
peace  or  a  king's  counsel."  And  he  looked  significantly 
at  the  guilty  magistrate  on  the  bench,  and  upon  the  prose- 
cuting counsel,  as  he  spoke. 

One  of  the  jury  remarked,  in  no  very  amiable  tone,  to 
the  barrister  : 

"  You  seem  to  forget,  sir,  that  martial  law  exists  in  this 
country  at  present." 

"  Forget  it,  sir  ! "  said  the  young  advocate,  reproach- 
fully. "  God  forbid  I  could  have  a  heart  so  callous  as  to 
forget  it  !  Have  I  not  seen  the  lamp-irons  of  our  streets 
made  the  ready  gibbet  for  the  readier  vengeance  of  mar- 
tial law,  as  if  they  selected  them  to  enlighten  the  public 
by  the  promptness  of  their  military  measures  ?     Forget  it, 


RORY  O'MORE.  345 

sir  ! — no  !  nor  you,  nor  I,  nor  our  children  after  us  shall 
forget  it.  But  terrible  as  the  tribunal  of  a  court-martial  is 
— even  when  called  at  the  drum-head,  I  would  not  venture 
here  to  condemn,  however  I  may  lament,  the  punishment 
which  is  recognized  by  the  law.  But  this  deponent  of 
whom  I  speak — this  poor  old  helpless  man — had  not  even 
a  drum-head  to  look  to,  the  only  likeness  to  it  being  the 
emptiness  of  the  head  whose  ferocious  folly  condemned 
him  ;  but  without  word  of  evidence,  or  question  of  life  and 
death,  even  among  his  own  troop,  this  captain-magistrate 
hanged  the  wretched  man  !  Yes,  gentlemen,  he  was  hanged, 
untried  and  unshriven,  less  like  a  Christian  than  a  dog  ! 
And  yet  this  is  the  coiidemnation  which  is  called  in  to  in- 
validate the  testimony  of  the  condemned  man  !  Con- 
demned, do  I  say  ?  Gentlemen,  I  cannot  contain  my  in- 
dignation ;  I  will  not  say  the  man  was  condemned,  for  the 
term  bears  with  it  the  seeming  of  legal  punishment — he 
was  not  condemned — he  was  murdered .'" 

From  the  first  allusion  made  to  the  hanging  of  Solomon, 
Justice  Slmk  seemed  rather  uncomfortable.  As  the  advo- 
cate warmed  into  indignation,  the  captain  seemed  to  wince 
under  the  lash  ;  and  though  his  brow  darkened  and  his 
face  assumed  a  vengeful  expression,  yet  was  he  afraid  to 
lift  his  eye  to  meet  the  bright,  indignant  glance  of  the 
young  barrister  ;  but  when  at  last  the  atrocious  act  he  had 
committed  was  called  by  its  right  name,  and  he  was  de- 
nounced as  a  murderer  in  open  court,  he  dared  to  keep  his 
seat  no  longer,  but  hurried  from  the  bench,  forgetting,  in 
his  confusion,  to  make  the  customary  obeisance  to  the 
judge. 

Retiring  to  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  court-house  appro- 
priated to  the  accommodation  of  the  magistracy,  he  sent 
for  Sweeny  and  gave,  through  him,  special  instructions  to 
the  counsel  for  the  prosecution  to  animadvert  in  his  speech 
in  reply  upon  the  defendant  barrister's  "atrocious  attack  "• 
upon  a  loyU  magistrate,  and  to  represent  to  the  jury  how 
the  military  party  had  been  entrapped  into  an  ambuscade 
by  the  tinker,  who,  therefore,  "  /lad  every  right  to  be  hanged. 
And,"  added  the  magisterial  captain,  "  if  any  other  judge 

than  that  milk-and-water  Lord  A (who  is  half  a  rebel 

himself)  was  on  the  bench,  the  Jacobite  rascal  who  is 
prating  would  not  have  been  permitted  to  hold  such  lan- 
guage against  a  loyal  man." 

Sweeny  returned  to  the  court  on  his  mission  and  found 
ihe  speech  for  the   defence  just  about  to  conclude  ;  the 


346  RORY   O'MORE. 

advocate  trusting  to  the  documentary  evidence  put  in  fot 
the  acquittal  of  his  client. 

The  jury  were  little  more  pleased  than  Justice  Slinlc  him- 
self at  the  boldness  of  the  young  lawyer  ;  for  hanging-made- 
easy  was  more  to  their  taste  than  is  desirable  in  gentlemen 
who  sit  on  capital  cases  ;  and  they  made  no  scruple  of  show- 
ing by  their  looks  that  the  speech  for  the  prisoner  was  far 
from  agreeable. 

When  the  prosecuting  counsel  rose  to  reply,  they  be- 
stowed upon  him  the  most  marked  attention  ;  and  he  pro- 
ceeded to  fill  up  the  outline  given  to  him  by  Sweeny,  at 
Captain  Slink's  desire.  After  defending  the  act  of  hanging 
the  tinker,  he  asked  tliem  how  could  they  believe  the 
testimony  of  a  rebel  who  had  suffered  death  for  betraying 
the  king's  troops  into  an  ambuscade  ;  and  which  very  testi- 
mony was  given  for  the  purpose  of  hoodwinking  a  magis- 
trate, and  very  likely  with  a  view  to  screen  the  prisoner  at 
the  bar,  who  stood  in  the  awkward  predicament  of  being 
open  to  the  suspicion  of  being  just  as  much  a  rebel  as  any 
one  of  them  ?  "  You  are  told,  gentlemen,  he  was  out  of 
the  country  all  the  time  of  the  rebellion — that  he  was  in 
France,  and  what  brought  him  there,  I  ask  ?  We  have  not 
been  told  what.  It  was  a  very  suspicious  place  to  be  in, 
at  all  events." 

In  this  strain  was  he  proceeding,  when  his  speech  was 
interrupted  by  a  bustle  in  the  court,  caused  by  the  faint- 
ing of  Kathleen  Regan,  whose  fears  for  Rory's  life  were 
wrought  to  such  a  pitch  that  she  sunk  beneath  them,  and 
much  disturbance  was  occasioned  by  the  movement  of  the 
dense  crowd  in  the  court  in  endeavoring  to  make  a  pas- 
sage for  her  to  the  open  air.  There  at  length  she  was 
conveyed,  and  in  some  time  restored  to  consciousness. 
Phelim  O'Flanagan  was  at  her  side,  for  he  had  undertaken 
the  care  of  her,  as  the  Widow  O'More  and  Mary  were  too 
dreadfully  interested  in  the  trial  to  leave  the  court,  where 
they  remained,  as  it  were,  in  a  state  of  fearful  fascination; 
for  though  they  stayed  to  hear  the  result,  they  feared  the 
worst  from  the  nature  of  the  prosecutor's  reply,  and  tha 
manifest  relish  with  which  it  was  received  by  the  jury. 

When  Kathleen  was  able  to  speak,  the  first  words  she 
said  to  Phelim  were,  "Where  are  they  all  gone  ?" 

"Who,  colleen — who  ?"  said  Phelim. 

"All  thim  people,  and  they  staring  so  frightfully  !  " 

"  Aisy,  colleeii  dear,  aisy.     You'll  be  betther  in  a  minit." 

Kathleen  drew  her  hand  across  her  forehead,  as  if  in  the 


RORY   O'MORE.  347 

act  of  recalling  memory  ;  and  then  bursting  into  tears, 
she  cried,  "  I  know  it  now,  I  know  it— I  remember  it  all ! 
They'll  murder  him — I  know  they'll  have  his  life  !  Oh, 
bring  me  back  there — bring  me  back  !  Don't  take  me 
away  from  him  as  long  as  he's  alive  !  Phelim,  dear,  take 
mc  back  again ! " 

"  Stay  here,  my  poor  colleen — it's  betther  for  you.  The 
hot  coort  will  make  you  faint  again." 

"  Oh,  it  wasn't  the  hot  coort,  Phelim,  but  the  cowld  feaf 
that  came  over  my  heart  ;  but  I'll  go  back  again — I  will." 

"  Wait  a  little  longer  at  laste,  darlin',  until  you're  more 
recovered.  Indeed  you'll  faint  agen  if  you  go  back  so 
soon." 

The  girl  heeded  him  not  as  he  spoke,  but  he  felt  her 
hand  grasp  his  arm  with  a  convulsive  pressure  ;  and  when 
he  looked  upon  her  he  saw  her  eyes  fixed  in  a  gaze  of  wild 
eagerness  toward  the  street,  as  she  gasped  forth  rapidly, 
"  Look  !  look  !  for  God's  sake  look  !  There,  there  !  It  is 
—it  is  him  !  " 

"  Who,  darlin',  who  ?  " 

"■  The  collecthor  !— the  collecthor  !     Oh,  great  God  !  " 

Springing  from  Phelim's  arms,  she  rushed  into  the 
street  ;  and,  seizing  the  reins  of  a  horse  which  a  traveller 
was  riding  up  the  road,  she  clasped  the  knees  of  the  horse- 
man, and  screamed  rather  than  spoke  to  him  :  "  Get  off- 
get  off,  and  save  his  life !  For  the  love  of  God,  get  off, 
and  save  him  !  " 

It  was  Scrubbs  whom  she  addressed.  He  had  escaped 
from  France,  and  by  a  singular  coincidence  arrived  at 
this  opportune  moment  to  save  the  life  of  the  man  wh» 
had  saved  his,  and  was  at  that  moment  under  trial  for  his 
murder. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  sensation  pro- 
duced among  the  by-standers  at  the  extraordinary  occur- 
rence, and  it  was  not  without  much  fear  on  his  part  that 
Scrubbs  was  almost  lifted  from  his  horse,  and  hurried  into 
the  court-house,  Kathleen  clinging  to  his  side  all  the  time, 
and  uttering  hysteric  exclamations. 

It  was  just  at  this  moment  the  prosecutor  was  winding 
up  his  reply.  "You  are  told,  gentlemen,  the  prisoner  was 
carried  away  to  France  by  force,  and  in  company  with 
Mr.  Scrubbs  ;  but  the  prisoner  returns,  and  no  tidings 
have  we  of  the  other.  The  prisoner  cannot  give  a  satis- 
factory account  of  himself.  What  brought  him  to  France  ? 
who  was  he  with  in  France  ?  how  did  he  get  back  from 


348  RORY  O'MORE. 

France  ?  why  does  not  the  collector  come  back,  too  \ 
Gentlemen,  the  question  is,  which  you  value  most,  a  gen- 
tleman's life,  or  a  tinker's  testimony — the  testimony  of  a 
rebel,  who  died  the  death  he  deserved  ?  Until  they  can 
produce  me  Mr.  Scrubbs,  I  remain  incredulous.  My  an- 
swer to  all  they  have  said  is,  '  Where  is  the  collector  ? '  " 

As  he  was  about  to  wind  up  a  grand  peroration,  the 
distant  sound  of  the  murmur  of  excitement  and  agitation 
in  the  crowd  which  thronged  every  avenue  to  the  court, 
interrupted  the  attention  of  the  audience.  The  crier  was 
ordered  to  demand  silence  ;  but  in  defiance  of  that  func- 
tionary's mandate,  the  sound  increased  like  that  of  rush, 
ing  waters,  and  above  it  all  the  hysteric  laugh  and  wail  oi 
a  woman  rang  wildly  through  the  court.  There  was  a 
momentary  pause  in  which  the  counsel,  repeating  his  con- 
clusive question,  exclaimed,  "  Again,  I  say,  where  is  the 
collector  ?  " 

The  lovely  girl,  with  streaming  hair  and  outstretched 
arms,  forced  her  way  into  the  court,  and  screamed,  "  He's 
here  !  he's  here  ! "  And  then  the  wild  laugh  which  forced 
her  flushed  face  into  an  expression  of  terrible  mirth,  while 
the  tears  were  streaming  down  it,  again  rang  round  the 
court,  which  was  absolutely  appalled  into  silence.  "  He's 
here  !"  she  exclaimed  again.  "  Great  God,  I  thank  you  ! 
I've  saved  him  !  I've  saved  him  !  "  And  then  she  re- 
lapsed  into  heart-broken  sobs. 

"  Remove    that    poor   girl    from    the    court,"  said  Lord 

A ,  whose   gentle    heart   was   quite   overcome   by  the 

scene  ;  **  remove  her,  and  take  care  of  her." 

It  would  be  impossible  minutely  to  detail  all  which  im- 
mediately followed  ;  the  surprise,  the  commotion,  the 
impossibility  to  command  order  for  some  minutes.  All 
this  can  be  better  imagined  than  described  ;  and,  there- 
fore, we  shall  not  attempt  to  paint  the  startling  scene  that 
passed  until  Kathleen  Regan  was  withdrawn  from  the 
court.  Then  Mr.  Scrubbs  was  produced  on  the  table  ; 
and  scores  of  witnesses  were  on  the  spot  to  identify  him — . 
indeed  every  man  on  the  jury  knew  him. 

Order  was  not  obtained  for  many  minutes,  and  it  re- 
quired some  interval  to  restore  to  Lord  A^ sufficient 

tranquillity  to  command  his  judicial  dignity  in  addressing 
the  jury,  which  he  did  in  a  few  words,  nearly  as  follows  : 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury — Your  duties  have  been  termi- 
nated in  a  very  singular  and  affecting  manner.  By  one  of 
those  interpositions  of  the  Divine  will  which  the  Almighty 


RORY  O'MORE.  34g 

is  sometimes  pleased  to  vouchsafe  in  evidence  of  his  eter- 
nal providence,  a  human  life  has  been  preserved  even 
when  it  was  in  the  most  imminent  danger " 

Lord  A paused  for  his  feelings  were  yet  an  over- 
match for  his  power  of  composure  ;  and  in  the  interval  the 
foreman  of  the  jury  said  to  his  brothers,  with  a  nod  : 

"  He  means  our  friend  Scrubbs  ;  wonderful  escape  in- 
deed!" 

Lord  A resumed  :  "Gentlemen,  it  has  been  the  will 

of  Heaven  to  make  manifest  the  innocence  of  an  accused 
man,  when  all  other  hope  had  failed  him,  save  that  of  the 
merciful  God  who  has  been  his  protector." 

Lord  A could  proceed  no  further,  and  many  a  stifled 

sob  was  heard  in  the  court — everywhere  but  in  the  jury-box. 

"Gentlemen,"  resumed  Lord  A ,  "though  the  trial 

is  at  an  end,  it  becomes  necessary,  as  a  matter  of  form, 
you  should  return  a  verdict." 

Singularly  contrasting  to  the  subdued  voice  of  the  judge, 
subdued  by  the  operation  of  his  feelings,  was  the  tone  in 
which  the  foreman  of  the  jury,  with  a  smirk,  answered, 
without  a  moment's  hesitation  : 

"  We  are  all  agreed,  my  lord." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Lord  A ,  passing  a  handker- 
chief across  his  eyes.  "  Return  your  verdict,  if  you  please, 
gentlemen." 

"  Guilty,  my  lord,"  said  the  foreman,  with  an  assumed 
suavity  of  voice  and  manner. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  judge;  "your  feel- 
ings have  overcome jW(!  as  well  as  many  others  present; 
you  said,  guilty — of  course  you  mean  Not  guilty." 

"No,  my  lord,  we  mean,  guilty." 

The  words  were  now  pronounced  sufficiently  loud  to  be 
audible  over  the  court,  and  a  wild  scream  from  the  women 
followed,  while  the  upturned  eyes  of  every  one  in  court  at 
the  jury-box  testified  their  astonishment.  Even  the  com- 
mon crier  was  lost  in  wonder,  and  forgot,  in  his  surprise, 
the  accustomed  call  of  "  Silence !  "  in  response  to  tlie 
shrieks  of  the  women. 

"  Good   God,  sir  !  "  exclaimed   Lord  A ,   addressing 

the  foreman,  "  have  you  eyes  and  ears  and  yet  you  return 
such  a  verdict  ?  The  prisoner  at  the  bar  is  accused  of  the 
murder  of  a  certain  man  ;  that  very  man  is  produced  on 
the  table  before  you,  and  identified  in  your  presence — a 
living  evidence  of  the  prisoner's  innocence — and  yet  you 
return  a  verdict  against  him  of  Guilty  !  " 


3SO  JiORY   O'MORE. 

"  We  do,  my  lord,"  said  the  foreman,  pertinaciously,,  and 
with  an  offended  air,  as  if  he  considered  it  a  grievance  his 
verdict  should  be  questioned. 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough,  sir,"  said  Lord  A — — , 
changing  his  tone  from  that  of  wonder  to  irony,  "to  tell 
me  upon  what  count  in  the  indictment  he  is  guilty  ?  for 
really  I  am  not  lawyer  enough  to  discover." 

"  We  should  be  sorry,  my  lord,  to  dispute  any  point  of 
law  with  your  lordship  ;  but  the  fact  is,  my  lord,  you  don't 
know  this  country  as  well  as  we  do,  and  we  can  swear 
upon  the  oath  we  have  taken  this  day,  that  the  prisoner 
ought  to  have  been  hanged  long  ago,  and  we  say,  Guilty,  my 
lord!"  ' 

Lord  A could   not  withdraw  the  look  of  mingled 

wonder  and  indignation  he  fixed  on  the  jury  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  and  when  he  did,  he  transferred  his  eyes  to  the 
prisoner — but  in  its  transit  the  look  of  asperity  was  gone, 
and  an  eye  beaming  with  benignity  met  the  bright  and 
unflinching  look  of  Rory. 

"  Prisoner  at  the  bar  !  "  said  Lord  A ,  whose  address 

turned  every  eye  upon  the  prisoner. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lord,"  said  one  of  the  magis- 
trates sitting  on  the  bench  ;  "your  lordship  has  forgotten 
to  put  on  your  black  cap." 

"  No,  sir,  I  have  not  forgotten  it.  Prisoner  at  the  bar," 
continued  the  judge,  "  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  tell  you  that, 
notwithstanding  the  verdict  you  have  heard  pronounced 
upon  you,  not  a  hair  of  your  head  shall  be  harmed ! " 

A  loud  "Hurrah  !"  interrupted  tlie  continuation  of  the 
address  ;  and  the  crier's  voice,  after  some  time,  was  heard 
shouting  "  Silence  !  "     After  the  lapse  of  about  a  minute 

order  was  obtained  ;  and  before  Lord  A^ could  resume, 

the  foreman  said,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  for  a  consider- 
able distance  :  "  No  wonder  the  rebels  shout !  " 

Lord  A — —  noticed  not  this  impertinence  directly,  but 
ordered  the  crier  again  to  command  silence  ;  and  when 
that  functionary  had  done  so,  his  lordship  added,  fixing 
his  eye  on  the  insolent  offender:  "And  whoever  dares 
again  to  violate  the  decency  and  solemnity  of  this  court, 
I  will  commit  him." 

The  bullying  foreman  quailed  before  the  dignified  re- 
buke, and  his  lordship  proceeded  in  a  business-like  tone 
to  the  whole  jury  : 

"  I  cannot  avoid,  gentlemen,  receiving  and  recording 
your  verdict ;  which  neither  can  I  resist  stigmatizing  as 


RORY  O'MORE.  351 

disgraceful  to  yourselves  individually  and  collectively — ■ 
for  you  must  either  be  fools  or  worse.  But  I  am  not 
bound  to  pronounce  sentence  on  the  prisoner  on  that  ver- 
dict, and  I  will  not ;  neither  will  I  rest  this  night  until  I 
despatch  a  special  messenger  to  the  lord-lieutenant,  to  rep- 
resent the  case  and  have  your  verdict  set  aside  ;  and  I 
promise  here  in  open  court,  to  the  prisoner,  that  with  all 
convenient  speed  he  shall  be  liberated  from  prison." 

After  the  admonition  of  the  judge  to  the  jurymen,  the 
assembled  multitude  had  sufficient  good  taste  to  repress 
any  tumultuous  expression  of  joy  ;  but  a  low  murmur  of 
pleasure  ran  round  the  court,  and  Kathleen  and  Mary  and 
her  mother  embraced  Rory  across  the  bar  before  he  was 
withdrawn  under  the  jailer's  care. 

The  jury  was  discharged,  the  judge  left  the  bench,  and 
the  court  became  gradually  deserted  when  the  exciting 
cause  which  had  crowded  its  interior  to  suffocation  was 
over  ;  but  there  were  little  knots  in  its  whereabouts,  talk- 
ing over  the  stirring  events  of  the  day  under  feeling  of 
varied  excitement.  The  jurymen,  before  they  separated, 
animadverted  upon  the  extraordinary  conduct  of  the  judge 
in  no  measured  terms, 

"  By  G— d  !  sir,"  said  the  foremen  to  his  brothers, 
"  there's  an  end  to  our  glorious  constitution  if  these  things 
are  permitted  to  go  on  !  What's  the  use  of  trial  by  jury, 
if  a  jury  can't  hang  any  man   they  think  fit  ?     I  ask   you 

what's  the  use  of  a  jury  otherwise  ?     But  here's  a  d d 

rebel  judge  comes  down  and  refuses  to  hang  him  ;  you 
know,  if  that's  permitted  there's  an  end  to  all  justice  ! — 
'tis  \h.Q  judge  is  the  jury  in  that  case,  and  all  the  vagabonds 
in  the  country  may  do  what  they  like." 

"  I  think,"  added  another,  "  that  we  should  send  an  ad- 
dress to  the  lord-lieutenant,  signed  by  us  all  in  person^  pro- 
testing against  the  injustice,  and  declaring  the  danger  to 
the  constitution  if  such  a  daring  proceeding  as  a  judge 
daring  to  presume  to  refuse  a  verdict  is  dared  to  be  per- 
mitted in  such  times  as  these,  with  popery  and  slavery, 
brass  money  and  wooden  shoes,  staring  us  in  the  face  ! 
Sir,  the  lord-lieutenant  himself  wouldn't  dare  to  refuse 
such  address  !  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  would,  sir,"  said  a  third.  **  You  know, 
if  property  is  not  represented,  what  becomes  of  the  country  ? 
And  here  is  twelve  men  of  property,  and  a  rebel  judge  re- 
fuses to  take  their  verdict — which  is,  as  I  say,  not  repre- 
senting the  property  of  the  country  ;  and  if  property  is 


352 


liORY   O'MORE. 


not  represented,  what  becomes  of  British  connection  ?  I 
should  like  to  know  that !  What  will  the  lord-lieutenant 
say  to  that  ?  " 

"  He  can't  do  less  than  suspend  the  judge  per  tuynperis, 
and  we'll  address  him  to  that  effect  sine  die — that's  my 
motto  ;  and  when  the  matter  is  properly  represented  to  the 
minister " 

"  I  think  it  should  go  before  the  bishop,"  interrupted  a 
juryman. 

"My  good  friend,  when  I  say  'the  minister,'  I  don't  mean 
the  minister — that  is,  the  n\\\\i%i&r you  mean — the  Protestant 
minister;  /mean  the  w/Vm/^r/a/ minister." 

"  Oh  !  I  beg  pardon — I  see  ;  you  mean  the  big  wigs  at 
the  other  side.  Very  good — capital  idea  !  Suppose  we 
were  to  sign  a  deputation  to  them,  and  forward  it,  paying 
the  postage  of  course  ?  " 

"  That  would  be  only  respectful,"  said  one  of  them  who 
had  not  yet  spoken. 

"  What's  this  you're  all  taking  about  ? "  said  Sweeny,  who 
now  joined  the  group. 

"  About  this  extraordinary  affair." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  apothecary  yeomanry-attorney  ; 
"  most  infamous  !  Never  witnessed  such  a  decision  in  all 
my  life — a  judge  refusing  to  purge  the  country  !  Where's 
our  constitution  if  the  countr3^'s  not  purged  ?  I  ask  any 
gentleman  that.  Such  conduct  in  a  judge  is  most  extra- 
ordinary— I  may  say,  miraculous.  It  is  a  sort  of  premium 
on  rebellion  ;  in  fact,  a  bonus." 

*'  They'll  bone  us  all,  sir,"  said  the  foreman,  "  if  they're 
not  put  down  ;  and  the  only  way  of  putting  them  down  is 
hanging  them  up." 

"  Hang  them,  certainly — hang  them  !  "  said  a  bacon-mer- 
chant, whose  custom  of  hanging  flitches  rendered  him  cal- 
lous to  the  practice  in  general. 

"We  were  just  talking,  Mr.  Sweeny,  when  you  came," 
said  the  foreman,  "of  addressing  a  deputation  to  the  min- 
isterial minister  on  this  matter." 

"  An  excellent  idea  ! "  replied  Sweeny. 

"  We  were  thinking  of  drawing  up  a  letter " 

"  I  would  recommend  it  to  be  engrossed,"  said  the  attorney. 

"  Very  good  suggestion,  gentlemen,"  added  the  foreman. 
"We  must  get  our  friend  Sweeny  to  engross  the  deputa- 
tion." 

"  It  will  be  more  respectful,"  said  the  respectable  maa 
who  backed  the  suggestion  of  paying  the  postage. 


RORY  O'MORE.  353 

"  Now,  who'll  write  it  ? "  inquired  the  foreman,  with  a 
certain  conscious  air,  in  asking  the  question,  that  he  him- 
self was  the  proper  person. 

"  Oh,  you — you,  of  course,"  was  answered  by  more  than 
one. 

"  Why,  really,"  said  the  foreman,  bashfully,  "  I  think  we 
ought  to  club  our  heads." 

"  Sir,"  said  Sweeny,  grinning,  thereby  giving  every  one 
notice  he  was  going  to  say  a  good  thing,  "  the  rebels  are 
ready  enough  to  club  our  heads  without  doing  it  ourselves. 
Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

A  correspondent  grin  and  "Ha!  ha!  ha!"  followed 
Sweeny's  witticism  ;  and  a  running  fire  of  "  Very  good  ! 
very  good  ! "  went  the  round  of  the  jurymen. 

"  But  I  do  think,"  continued  the  foreman,  "  this  deputa- 
tion thing  should  be  done  by  a  comit-ee." 

"  No  one  can  do  it  better  than  you,  worthy  foreman," 
said  Sweeny,  toadying  the  man  who  so  readily  backed  his 
attempt  at  the  engrossing  job. 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  the  postage-man  ;  "  you  have  the 
pen  of  a  ready  writer,  sir." 

"  True,"  said  Sweeny,  "  or,  as  tve  say,  correcto  calomel 
Then,  my  dear  sir,  as  it  seems  to  be  the  general  wish  of 
the  jury — or,  as  I  may  say,//-;?  con — that  you  are  to  do  it, 
I'll  go  along  with  you  and  take  your  instructions." 

This  terminated  the  jury  consultation  ;  and  Sweeny  was 
walking  off  with  the  foreman,  when  one  of  the  constables 
addressed  him,  to  say  that  his  honor  Justice  Slink  wanted 
to  speak  to  him. 

"Then  I  must  be  off,"  said  Sweeny.  "You  see  I  am  so 
engaged  ! — in  short,  I'm  7\.fee  totum — I  might  almost  say,  a 
/^(?-totum,  for  I'm  going  round  and  round  them  all.  I'll 
go  over  to  you,  however,  to  breakfast  to-morrow,  and  take 
the  instruction." 

Sweeny  followed  the  constable,  who  led  him  to  a  room 
in  the  court-house  where  Slink  awaited  him.  The  brow 
of  the  justice  was  clouded,  and  his  tone  was  angry  as  he 
addressed  the  attorney. 

"A  pretty  bungle  Scrubbs  has  made  of  this  business  !" 

"  My  dear  justice,  it  is  not  his  fault  after  all." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  didn't  we  tell  him  on  no  account  to  ap- 
pear until  the  rascal's  trial  was  over  ?  " 

"  So  we  did.  But,  you  sec,  the  trial  occurred  a  day 
later  than  we  calculated,  and  I  told  Scrubbs  he  might  go 
home  on  Wednesday.'' 


354  RORY   O'MORE. 

"  Zounds  !  why  didn't  you  stop  him  ?  " 

"  I  endeavored  to  do  so,  my  dear  justice,  by  sending  ovev 
a  messenger  last  night  ;  but  he  missed  him." 

"  It's  d d  unfortunate  !    that's  all   I   can   say,"  said 

Slink.  "  Come  home,  however,  and  dine  with  me  ;  I'm  as 
hungry  as  a  hawk,  kicking  my  heels  here  about  the  court 
all  day,  and  for  no  good,  since  that  rebel  has  escaped. 
Come  along !  it  can't  be  helped — the  old  saying,  you 
know,  *  The  devil's  children  have  the  devil's  luck  ; '  and  so 
that  rascal,  Rory  O'More,  has  cheated  the  gallows." 

"We  may  be  down  on  him  yet,"  said  Sweeny,  following 
the  magistrate  homeward  to  eat  a  good  dinner,  with  a  good 
appetite,  notwithstanding  the  conspiracy  he  had  joined  in 
against  a  fellow-creature's  life  ;  for  being  apprised  of 
Scrubb's  return  to  Ireland  before  the  trial,  he  and  the  jus- 
tice considered  it  an  ingenious  device  to  induce  the  collector 
to  remain  concealed  until  it  was  over,  for  the  purpose  of 
hanging  an  innocent  man,  whom  they  considered  a  dan- 
gerous person — but  whose  life,  by  the  interference  of  Pro- 
vidence, was  preserved  from  the  murderous  attempt ;  and 
he,  in  defence  of  whose  liberty  poor  Rory  had  encountered 
so  many  perils,  and  whose  trial  arose  from  that  very  cause 
— even  he  was  miscreant  enough  to  join  the  horrible  con- 
spiracy, and  consent  to  the  murder  of  the  man  who  had 
been  his  champion. 

Yet  this  atrocious  triad  were  considered  eminently  use- 
ful persons  by  the  Irish  executive  at  that  period  ;  and  it 
was  of  such  persons  it  was  said  by  the  adherents  of  the 
government,  "  that  the  country  would  be  lost  without 
them."  And,  indeed,  government  seemed  to  think  so  too  ; 
Sweeny  rapidly  rose  in  law  preferment,  being  made  non- 
solicitor  for  the  district ;  for  Scrubbs  was  advanced  to  a 
place  of  great  emolument  in  the  metropolitan  custom- 
house ;  and  Justice  Slink  was  created  a  knight,  and  in  due 
time  a  baronet. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


Showing    how  the  Verdict    for  the  Hanging  of  One  Produces  the  Ban- 
ishment of  Many. 

It  was  with  the  feelings  of  intense  anxiety  De  Lacy 
awaited  the  return  of  his  friend  from  the  court-house  ;  and 
with  open  arms  he  received  him,  when  he  saw,  by  the  eX' 


XOJ?y  O'MORE. 


3SS 


pression  of  his  countenance,  all  was  right  before  he  had 
spoken  a  word. 

"  He's  safe,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  Thanks  !  thanks,  my  dear  friend,"  exclaimed  De  Lacy, 
pressing  his  hand  with  fervor.  "  Have  you  brought  him 
with  you  ? " 

"  He  is  not  yet  liberated." 

"  And  why  not  after  his  acquittal  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  he  was  acquitted  ;  I  only  said  he  was 
safe.  There  now,  don't  look  so  wretchedly  anxious  ;  let 
me  sit  down,  for  I  am  exhausted,  and  will  tell  you  all  about 
it." 

He  then  hastily  gave  him  a  sketch  of  the  trial ;  and 
when  he  repeated  the  verdict  of  the  jury,  De  Lacy  fancied 
he  was  only  joking. 

**  I  assure  you  'tis  true." 

"What !  find  a  man  guilty  of  murder  when  the  person 
he  is  accused  of  murdering  is  produced  before  them  ? " 

"True  as  gospel,  I  protest." 

"  My  good  fellow,  I  catinot  believe  it ;  surely  you  are 
joking  !  " 

"  On  my  honor,  then,  since  you  won't  believe  less,  it  is 
the  fact." 

"  But  surely  they  cannot  hang  him  ?" 

"  Fortunately  for  him  they  cannot  ;  but  they  would  if 

they  could.     Lord  A ,   I  need  not  tell  you,  would  not 

pronounce  sentence  on  such  a  verdict,  and  even  assured 
the  prisoner,  before  he  quitted  the  bench,  that  his  life  was 
in  no  danger  ;  however,  he  could  not  help  allowing  the 
verdict  to  be  recorded." 

"And  what  a  record ! "  exclaimed  De  Lacy;  "  what  a 
brand  of  infamy  and  folly  upon  the  men  who  gave  it,  and 
the  times  in  which  we  live  !  One  might  laugh  at  the  ab- 
surdity of  the  act,  only  for  its  atrocity  ;  but  here,  really, 
mirth  is  reproved  by  horror,  and  the  smile  gives  place  to 
a  shudder." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  don't  be  so  eloquent ;  remember  'twas 
an  Irish  verdict,"  said  his  friend,  who  smiled  at  De  Lacy's 
warmth. 

"  Nay,  nay,  I  cannot  trifle  on  this  matter — I  cannot  ! 
Good  God  !  what  man's  life  is  safe  here  under  such  cir- 
cumstances ?" 

"  Oh,  don't  mistake  me,  De  Lacy  ;  'twas  only  for  the  sake 
of  rousing  your  virtuous  indignation  I  said  what  I  did  ; 
and  remember,  my  dear  fellow,  after  all,  your  Rory's  safe. 


2^  RORY  O'MORE. 

But,   seriously  speaking,   it  is  certainly  a  most    rascally 
affair,  and  I  quite  agree  in  every  word  you  have  uttered." 

"Well,"  said  De  Lacy,  after  a  moment's  silence  and  with 
a  long-drawn  sigh,  "  I'm  doomed  to  be  disappointed  in 
everything  !  I  returned  to  my  country  with  a  desire  of 
being  a  useful  member  of  society — of  becoming  a  quiet 
and  unoffending  subject  even  under  the  system  such  as  it 
is — of  doing  all  the  good  within  my  power  ;  and,  so  help 
me  Heaven  !  I  had  thoroughly  renounced  all  the  romantic 
speculations  in  which  you  know  I  have  indulged,  and 
hoped  to  be  permitted  at  least  to  live  vmmolested,  and 
even  these  humble  expectations  are  dashed  to  destruction 
the  moment  my  foot  touches  my  native  soil — the  life  of  an 
innocent  man  is  sought  to  be  sacrificed  to  the  demon  of 
party  hate  in  the  face  of  the  very  laws  ;  even  in  her  tem- 
ple !  By  all  that's  sacred  I  would  not  live  in  such  a  coun- 
try to  be  king  of  it !  Now,  Ireland — poor  Ireland  !  fare- 
well !  As  soon  as  I  can  put  my  foot  on  the  deck  of  a  free 
country's  vessel,  I  will  leave  you  ;  an  American  ship  shall 
bear  me  to  her  shores,  and  I  will  place  the  Atlantic  be- 
tween me  and  the  bloodhounds  that  I  see  are  bent  on 
hunting  this  poor  country  to  death  ! " 

"  Do  not  be  too  hasty,  De  Lacy  ;  you  may  do  much  good 
here  by  remaining  ;  you  may  live  to  be  the  poor  man's 
friend,  and  become  the  protector  of  the  weak  against  the 
strong." 

'*  If  I  thought  so,  my  friend,"  returned  De  Lacy,  whose 
flushed  cheek  betrayed  the  warmth  of  his  emotion,  "  I 
would  stay ;  but  the  tide  runs  too  strong  to  make  head 
against,  /  the  protector  of  the  weak  against  the  strong  ? 
What  mortal  power  may  interpose  when  the  divine  ema- 
nation from  Heaven — when  Truth  herself  cannot  screen  the 
victim  from  the  destroyer!  That  verdict  has  not  succeeded 
as  it  was  intended  to  do — in  murdering  an  innocent  man  ; 
but  it  has  banished  another,  who  meant  to  do  all  in  his 
power  to  benefit  his  country." 

"Well,  we'll  talk  of  this  another  time,"  said  his  friend, 
who  wished  to  divert  him  from  the  theme  of  his  indigna- 
tion. "  As  you  desired,  I  have  directed  the  three  poor 
women  who  walked  all  the  way  from  their  village  to  the 
town  this  morning,  to  come  to  the  inn  for  rest  and  refresh- 
ment." 

"  True,"  said  De  Lacy  ;  "  I  forgot.  I  wish  much  to  see 
them,  now  that  all  is  over,  and  my  presence  in  the  country 
need  not  be  kept  a  secret — are  they  here  ? '" 


RORY   O'MORE.  357 

"  I  left  them  to  follow,  wishing  to  hasten  to  you  with  the 
news." 

At  this  moment  the  door  was  opened  by  a  great  hulking 
fellow,  with  bristling  hair,  staring  eyes,  high  cheek-bones, 
a  snub  nose,  and  a  great  mouth,  with  a  voice  to  match, 
who  enacted  the  part  of  waiter  ;  and  the  aforesaid,  pro- 
truding his  head,  and  nothing  more,  into  the  room,  said 
as  loudly  and  as  rapidly,  and  with  as  great  a  brogue  as  it 
could  well  be  said,  "  If  you  plaze,  sir " 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  If  you  plaze,  sir,  there's  wan  a  wantin'  you." 

"  Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  Three  women,  sir."  <» 

"And  are  three  women  one?"  said  the  lawyer  smiling. 

"  Only  one  ax'd  for  you,  sir,"  answered  the  waiter,  grin- 
ning, ready  with  his  answer. 

"  And  couldn't  you  say  so  ? " 

"  By  dad,  sir,  it  was  the  owld  one  o'  the  three  ax'd  for 
you  ;  and  the  other  two  is  mighty  purty,  and  so  I  thought 
they  would  be  a  grate  help  ;  and  that's  the  rayson." 

"Show  them  up." 

Off  went  the  waiter,  and  in  a  few  seconds  the  sound  of 
ascending  footsteps  announced  the  approach  of  Rory's 
mother  and  sister,  and  Kathleen  Regan.  The  door  opened  ; 
Mary  O'More  was  the  iirst  to  enter,  and  De  Lacy,  advanc- 
ing to  her  with  extended  hand,  said,  in  a  voice  full  of  kind- 
ness :  "  Mary,  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

The  girl  could  not  repress  a  faint  scream,  and  notwith- 
standing a  manifest  effort  to  control  her  feelings,  her  sud- 
den flushing  and  subsequent  pallor  betrayed  how  powerfully 
the  vinexpectcd  appearance  of  De  Lacy  acted  upon  her. 

"  I  did  not  let  you  know  sooner  I  was  here  ;  but  I  would 
not  be  far  from  Rory,  Mary,  in  his  time  of  need." 

"  God  bless  you  !  God  bless  you  !  "  faltered  Mary,  almost 
suffocating  with  contending  emotions,  which  were  too 
much  for  her,  and  the  poor  girl,  falling  upon  lier  knees, 
kissed  De  Lacy's  hand  fervently  and,  with  half-uttered 
blessings,  sunk  insensible  to  the  ground. 

De  Lacy  lifted  the  fainting  girl,  and  bore  her  to  a  sofa 
near  the  window,  which  was  immediately  thrown  open  for 
the  admission  of  fresh  air.  A  few  minutes  served  to  revive 
her,  and  a  glass  of  water  partly  restored  her  to  composure  ; 
but  still  she  exhibited  signs  of  agitation,  and  the  mother 
said,  "  Sure  'twas  no  wondher,  after  all  the  cra3'thur  had 
gone  through  that  day  " 


358  RORY  O'MORE. 

"  No  wonder,  indeed,  Mrs.  O'More,"  said  De  Lacy.  "  But, 
after  all,  my  friend  Rory  is  safe." 

"  Oh,  but  is  Ac  safe,  sir,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  As  safe  as  I  am,"  said  the  lawyer  ;  "  do  not  entertain 
the  least  uneasiness." 

"But  sure  they  gave  in  'Guilty,'  the  villains,  they  did, 
and  my  boy  is  taken  back  to  jail  ! " 

"  That  cannot  be  helped,  and  I  cannot  explain  to  you 
why  he  must  remain  in  prison  for  a  couple  of  days  ;  but, 
take  my  word,  he's  in  no  danger." 

"Oh,  I  can  hardly  venture  my  heart  with  the  belief  un- 
til I  see  him  out  of  jail." 

"Take  my  word,  too,  Mrs.  O'More,"  said  De  Lacy,  "and 
you,  too,  Kathleen,  Rory  will  be  with  us  in  a  couple  of  days." 

Kathleen  could  not  speak,  but,  clasping  her  hands  and 
pressing  them  to  her  bosom,  she  looked  her  thanks  more 
touchingly  than  language  could  have  told  them. 

"  And  you,  Mary,"  added  De  Lacy,  turning  again  to  the 
sofa,  where  Mary  still  sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground, 
ashamed  of  the  emotion  which  the  unexpected  presence  of 
De  Lacy  had  caused — "you,  too,  must  cheer  up.  And 
how  have  you  been  all  the  time  Rory  and  I  have  been 
away  ?  You've  had  hard  times  of  it,  Mary,  since  the  Sun- 
day I  left  the  cottage  ;  but  I  must  have  my  little  room  there 
again,  for  a  few  days." 

"Ah,  sir !  "  sighed  the  widow,  "you'll  never  see  your  lit- 
tle room  again  !  the  owld  house  was  burnt  in  the  begin- 
ning o'  the  bad  times  !  " 

"  Burnt  !  "  exclaimed  De  Lacy,  who  had  not  before  heard 
of  the  calamity. 

"  Ay,  indeed,  sir — and  everything  in  it,  but  jist  ourselves 
and  the  clothes  on  our  backs ;  and  little  o'  thim,  for  we 
wor  hunted  out  of  our  beds,  and  not  a  shred  or  a  scrap  did 
we  save,  barrin'  the  books  you  left  behind  you  ;  and  Mary, 
the  craythur,  thought  o'  them  in  the  middle  of  it  all,  for 
the  regard  she  had  for  thim — and  no  wondher." 

Mary  reddened  to  the  very  forehead  as  her  mother  spoke. 

"  And,  sure,  you  are  the  rale  and  thrue  friend.  Mister 
De  Lacy,"  continued  the  widow.  "  To  think  of  your  being 
here  yourself,  let  alone  that  good  gintleman  you  sent  to  us 
in  our  throuble  !  Oh  !  may  the  I.ord  reward  you  !  But 
tell  me,  sir,  do  you  think,  indeed,  my  darling  boy  is  safe  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  safe— rest  satisfied  on  that  point.  And  now, 
Mrs.  O'More,  come  over  here  and  sit  down  at  table  ;  we 
all  want  some  refreshment — co.me  over." 


RORY   O'MORE.  359 

"  It's  time,  sir,  we  should  be  goin'  home  ;  we  have  a 
good  step  to  walk,  and " 

"  You  must  not  leave  the  town  this  evening,"  said  De 
Lacy.  "  I  have  ordered  you  all  beds  to-night  ;  therefore 
you  may  take  your  dinners  in  comfort,  and  we  will  have  a 
talk  over  old  times,  Mrs.  O'More." 

As  he  spoke  the  waiter  entered  with  a  hot  joint,  and 
slapped  down  the  dish  on  the  table,  spilling  half  the  gravy 
over  the  table-cloth,  and  upsetting  a  couple  of  glasses, 
which  reached  the  ground  with  a  grand  smash. 

"  Bad  luck  to  thim  for  glasses — they're  always  fallin'  !  " 
said  he,  as  he  picked  up  the  larger  pieces  of  the  broken 
glass  and  threw  them  into  the  fire. 

Mrs.  O'More  protested  for  some  time  against  dining, 
declaring  it  was  too  much  trouble,etc.  ;  all  of  which  meant 
on  her  part,  as  well  as  that  of  the  girls,  that  they  felt  awk- 
ward in  sitting  down  to  table  with  the  strange  gentle- 
man. De  Lacy  had  often  been  the  companion  of  their 
dinner  in  their  own  cabin  ;  but  now  that  he  was  in  a  hotel, 
and  in  the  presence  of  a  second  person  of  superior  rank,  it 
made  all  the  difference.  However,  their  modest  scru- 
ples were  at  length  overcome  ;  and  the  easy  and  unaffected 
bearine  of  the  barrister  set  them  soon  as  much  at  ease 
as  they  could  be  under  such  circumstances. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  the  lawyer  could  not 
avoid  remarking  the  downcast  looks  of  Mary  O'More,  and 
the  timid  glances  she  sometimes  ventured  to  cast  toward  De 
Lacy  ;  and  this,  when  considered  together  with  the  beauty 
of  the  girl,  raised  certain  surmises  in  the  mind  of  the  young 
lawyer  which  were  not  justified  by  any  conduct  on  the 
part  of  his  friend.  The  women  retired  soon  after  dinner  ; 
and,  indeed,  the  fatigues  of  the  day  made  an  early  retreat 
to  bed  absolutely  necessary. 

When  De  Lacy  and  his  friend  were  alone,  the  latter  re- 
marked what  a  lovely  specimen  Mary  O'More  presented 
of  a  peasant  girl. 

"  They  are  both  handsome  girls,"  remarked  De  Lacy. 

"That's  an  ingenious  escape,  my  friend,"  said  the  law- 
yer ;  *'  but,  if  I'm  not  greatly  mistaken,  you  have  been 
making  sad  work  with  that  poor  girl's  heart." 

"Do  you  imagine  I  could  be  such  a  scoundrel?"  an- 
swered De  Lacy,  rather  warmly. 

"  My  good  fellow,  I  don't  mean  you  would  harbor  a  dis- 
honorable intention  to  man  or  woman  breathing  ;  but, 
somehow  or  other,   that  poor  girl  is  desperately  in  lov« 


36a  RORY   O'MORE. 

with  you,  however  it  has  taken  place.  Did  you  not  ob- 
serve  her  emotion  at  sight  of  you — her  not  daring  to  meet 
your  eyes  ?  and  I  could  see  many  a  bashful  look  at  you 
when  she  thought  herself  unobserved." 

"  My  dear  Hal,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  it  is  only  gratitude  for 
my  care  of  her  brother,  nothing  more — it  can  be  nothing 
more." 

"  May  be  so,"  said  the  lawyer,  who  saw  the  subject  had 
better  be  dropped  ;  and  turning  the  conversation  into  an- 
other channel,  they  chatted  and  sipped  their  wine  until  it 
was  time  to  retire  to  rest. 

The  lawyer  did  retire  to  rest,  but  De  Lacy  only  went  to 
bed.  He  could  not  rest ;  his  anxiety  during  the  day,  his 
indignation  at  the  verdict,  his  determination  to  leave  the 
country,  and  tiie  drawing  projects  which  opened  on  his 
speculative  mind  with  relation  to  his  intended  removal  to 
America,  kept  him  in  a  state  of  wakefulness.  Then  the 
remarks  of  his  friend  before  they  parted  for  the  night 
had  more  influence  upon  him  than  his  answer  would  have 
led  one  to  suppose  ;  though  he  affected  to  disbelieve  the 
source  of  Mary  O'More's  emotion,  the  evidence  had  not 
been  unnoticed  by  himself,  and  it  made  him  unhappy. 
Then  her  mother's  little  anecdote  of  his  books  being  the  only 
things  saved  from  the  ruin  of  their  cottage  when  it  was 
devoted  to  the  flames,  the  cause  was  plain  enough  to  give 
a  libertine  pleasure,  but  a  man  of  principle  pain. 

"  Poor  girl  !  "  thought  De  Lacy,  "  I  would  not  for  the 
world  that  I  should  prove  the  cause  of  such  an  innocent 
and  lovely  creature's  unhappiness  !  I  should  never  forgive 
myself.  And  yet,  why  should  I  say  forgive  ?  I  never 
breathed  a  word  nor  made  the  slightest  allusion  to  awaken 
such  a  sentiment  in  her  heart  ;  but  then  I  lived  under  the 
same  roof  for  some  months,  was  constantly  in  her  pres- 
ence, and  gave  her  those  unfortunate  books  ;  that  was  un- 
wise— I  see  it  was  ;  but  God  knows  my  heart !  it  was 
innocently  done.  What  unaccountable  things  are  human 
feelings  !  Here  is  this  poor  peasant  girl  betrayed  into  an 
attachment  of  which  she  must  know  the  hopelessness  ;  for 
she  is  a  sensible  creature,  and  who  would  shudder  at  the 
suspicion  being  entertained  of  her  indulging  an  unrequited 
affection,  for  she  is  delicate-minded  as  one  more  highly 
born.  And  yet  she  does  love  me,  I  fear  ;  and  reason 
awakes  but  to  warn  her  to  conceal  what  it  was  not  strong 
enough  to  prevent.  Alas  !  how  often  feeling  triumphs 
over  reason  ! — how  unequal  is  the  struggle  between  them! 


RORY  O'MORE.  361 

How  are  we  to  account  for  this  unequal  balance  ?  Wny 
is  this  reason  given  as  a  guide  if  there  be  insufficiency  in 
its  guidance  on  any  occasion  or  in  any  trial  ?  why  ?  "  And 
thus  De  Lacy  fell  into  a  train  of  metaphysical  musing, 
which  set  him  to  sleep,  as  it  would  do  the  reader  were 
I  to  recount  it. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 

In  which  Rory  Follows  De  Lacy's  Advice  and  His  Own  Inclinations. 

Lord   A ^    was    as   good   as   his   word :    he    lost   no 

time  in  representing  Rorj^'s  case  to  the  lord-lieutenant, 
and  procuring  his  discharge  from  prison.  When  he  was 
at  liberty  De  Lacy  told  him  his  intention  of  leaving  Ire- 
land, and  recommended  him  to  bear  him  company,  as  he 
did  not  consider  his  life  would  be  safe  if  he  remained. 

"Arrah  !  how  could  I  lave  the  mother  and  Mary, 
and " 

"Kathleen,"  added  De  Lacy. 

"Yis,"  said  Rory,  smiling.  "I  don't  deny  it,  though 
you  never  gave  me  a  hint  o'  that  before." 

"  I  can  see  as  far  into  a  millstone  as  most  people,  Rory. 
Now,  I  do  not  want  you  to  leave  them  :  they  can  bear  you 
company." 

"  Sure  they'd  feel  mighty  strange  in  France,  sir." 

"I  did  not  say  a  word  about  France.  What  would  you 
think  of  America  ? " 

*'  Oh,  that's  another  affair  !  But  how  could  I  take  them 
there  ?  we  are  not  as  snug  as  we  were  wanst  ;  and  that 
would  take  a  power  o'  money." 

"  Money  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question,  Rory. 
Come  with  me.  I  intend  selling  off  everything  I  am  worth, 
and  going  to  the  back  settlements  of  America  ;  there  I 
shall  buy  a  large  tract  of  ground,  and  shall  want  many 
about  me  ;  and  how  much  better  for  me  to  have  those  I 
know  and  regard  than  strangers.  You  shall  be  my  head 
man  there,  Rory,  and  teach  me  to  farm  !  And  before  you 
go,  set  your  heart  at  rest  on  one  project  I  know  it  is  bent 
upon  ;  you  shall  marry  Kathleen  Regan  to-morrow  if  you 
like." 

"  That's  a  great  temptation  !  "  said  Rory. 

*'  But,  whether  you  come  or  not,  Rory,  let  not  want  of 
money  in  any  way  stand  between  you  and  your  wishes  ;  I 


362  RORY   O'MORE, 

will  give  Kathleen  a  marriage-portion,  enough  to  set  you 
up  in  comfort  again.  If  you  remain  here — which,  how- 
ever, I  strongly  advise  you  against  after  the  specimen  you 
have  had  of  Irish  justice  the  other  day — what  can  you  ex- 
pect but  persecution  in  this  unfortunate  country?  You 
may  marry  and  have  a  family,  and  leave  them  fatherless 
some  day  by  a  sudden  and  violent  death  ;  while,  if  you 
come  with  me,  you  may  live  to  see  them  grow  up  about 
you,  helping  you  in  the  cultivation  of  your  farm,  and  be- 
coming the  props  of  your  age." 

"  Misther  De  Lacy,  I  can't  thank  you,  sir — in  troth  I 
can't,  for  all  your  heart  to  me.  I  won't  spake — I  caiit 
spake  ;  "  and  the  poor  fellow  paused  and  drew  his  hand 
across  his  eyes  ;  "  but  you've  made  me  the  happiest  fellow 
in  Ireland  this  day.  God  bless  you  !  Oh,  thin,  but  it's  I 
that  will  marry  my  darlin'  girl  the  very  minit  she'll  let  me 
spake  to  the  priest  ;  and  that'll  be  smart,  if  I've  my  own 
way.  So  you  see,  sir,  I'm  no  churl  in  refusing  your 
bounty,  but  take  your  offer  with  a  heart  and  a  half  ;  and 
may  you  get  the  reward  of  all  your  kindness  to  me,  in 
meeting  a  girl  that's  worthy  of  yourself,  and  will  love  you  as 
my  own  Kathleen  loves  me  ;  and  that  you  may  taste  the 
pleasure  yourself  you  have  bestowed  on  me,  in  the  pros- 
pect of  hugging  to  my  heart  the  girl  of  my  bosom  !  Sure, 
little  I  thought " 

"  Rory,  my  dear  fellow,  say  no  more — say  no  more  ; 
you're  too  grateful." 

"  That's  what  no  man  can  be,  sir.  I  wouldn't  be  mane 
— and  I'm  sure  you  know  it,  but,  by  the  power  !  I'd  take 
the  heart  out  of  my  body  if  I  could,  and  lay  it  undher  the 
feet  of  the  one  that  was  kind  and  generous  to  me." 

"There  now,  Rory,  that's  enough — say  no  more.  You're 
a  sfood  fellow,  and  a  kind — and  deserve  more  than  that  at 
my  hands  ;  and  now  tell  me,  will  you  come  with  me  ?  or 
shall  I  get  you  a  little  farm  here  ? " 

*'  Troth,  I'll  be  said  and  led  by  you,  that's  such  a  good 
frind.  It  goes  agin  me  hard — I  don't  deny  it — to  leave 
the  owld  counthry,  and  the  places  my  heart  warms  to  at 
the  sight  of.  Sure,  I  used  to  dhramc  of  thim  when  I  was 
with  you  in  France  ;  and  could  see  the  river,  and  the  hills, 
and  the  cottage,  and  the  owld  rath,  as  plain  as  if  I  was  on 
the  spot  ;  and  won't  it  be  the  same  when  I'm  in  another 
strange  land  ?  My  heart  will  be  always  longing  afther  my 
darlin'  Ireland,  and  the  owld  tunes  of  her  be  ringin'  in  my 
ears  all  day.     Oh,  but  the  shamrocks  is  close  at  my  heart !  " 


RORY  O^MORE.  363 

"  Rory,  there  are  many  of  our  countrymen  in  America; 
and  there  you  will  feel  less  difference  of  country,  from  the 
use  of  the  same  language.  But  I  do  not  want  to  force 
your  inclinations.  If  you  wish  to  remain  in  ^reland  do  so  ; 
but  I  decidedly  recommend  you  not." 

"Thin  I'll  do  what  you  recommend,  sir.  I'll  follow 
you  ;  and,  indeed,  I  b'lieve  you're  righ*.  enough,  for  the 
poor  counthry  is  ground  down  to  powther,  and  will  be 
worse,  I'm  afeard.  So,  in  the  Lord's  name  I  poor  Ireland, 
good-lDy  to  you  !  though,  God  knows,  it  cuts  me  to  the 
heart's  core  to  quit  you.  I'm  foolish,  Misther  De  Lacy — 
I  know  I'm  foolish  ;  so  I'll  bid  you  good-mornin',  sir,  and  set 
off  to  Knockbrackin,  and  ask  the  girl  to  have  me,  and  tell 
her  that  it's  yourself  is  more  than  a  father  to  her,  and 
gives  her  the  fortune.     And  may  the  angels " 

"  There — there  now,  Rory,  no  more  thanks.  But  as  you 
§ay  I  am  more  than  Kathleen's  father,  it  reminds  me  that 
\  must  not  be  less  than  her  father  ;  so  I  will  give  her 
away." 

"Musha!  but  you're  the  very  sowl  of  good-nature,  Mis- 
ther De  Lacy.  By  all  that's  good,  your  heart  is  nothing 
but  a  honeycomb." 

"  Be  off  now,  Rory,  and  give  Kathleen  my  compliments, 
and  tell  her  she  must  name  next  Sunday  for  her  wedding  ; 
for  I  perceive,  by  an  advertisement  in  this  paper  I've  been 
reading,  that  a  ship  sails  in  ten  days  from  Cork,  and  I'm 
going  there  to  make  arrangements  for  my  passage.  Will 
you  say  at  once  you  and  yours  will  come  in  the  same 
ship  ?  "' 

"  In  God's  name,  sir,  yis  !"  said  Rory  reverently.  "  I 
know  they'll  all  do  what  you  think  best,  with  as  ready  a 
heart  as  myself." 

"  Farewell,  then,  Rory !  Next  Sunday  I  shall  be  at 
Knockbrackin,  to  give  you  Kathleen  ;  and  I  wish  you  joy 
with  her.  There  now,  be  off ! — not  a  word  more.  Go, 
and  get  yourself  and  your  pretty  wife  ready  for  Sunday." 

Rory  departed,  and  De  Lacy,  when  he  was  gone,  ordered 
a  post-chaise  for  Cork.  He  there  made  all  arrangements 
requisite  for  the  passage  of  himself  and  his  dependents, 
and  was  ready  to  keep  his  appointment  at  Knockbrackin, 
where,  when  Rory  arrived,  there  was  overwhelming  joy  at 
all  the  good  news  he  brought  them — news,  however,  not 
unmingled  with  pain  ;  for  the  thoughts  of  leaving  Ireland 
touched  the  women's  feelings  as  much  as  Rory's.  But,  ad- 
mitting the  truth  of  all  De  Lacy's  arguments  in  favor  of 


364  RORY  O'MORE. 

emigration,  which  Rory  detailed  to  them,  they  acknowl- 
edged it  to  be  the  safest  course  to  pursue,  and  one  that 
opened  to  them  an  easier  life  than  could  be  hoped  for  in 
their  native  land.  Still  it  was  their  native  land,  and  their 
hearts  clung  to  it,  and  every  hour  in  the  day  v^-as  crossed 
by  some  recollection  which  embittered  the  thought  of  leav- 
ing it.  One  thing,  however,  helped  to  dissipate  their  mel- 
ancholy— the  approaching  wedding ;  and  the  Sunday 
morning  smiled  brightly  on  the  happy  family — happier 
than  they  had  been  for  many  a  long  day.  De  Lacy  arrived 
before  the  hour  when  Mass  commenced,  and  driving  up 
to  the  door  of  the  little  village  cabin,  w^as  welcomed  and 
hailed  with  blessings  by  all  its  inmates  as  he  entered  it. 

_"  There  are  some  articles  to  be  removed  from  the  chaise," 
said  De  Lacy.  "  I  have  brought  a  wedding-cake  from 
Cork,  and  some  few  other  things,  for  the  bridal  of  the 
lady  I'm  to  give  away  ;  which  is  only  right,  you  know, 
Mrs.  O'More." 

"Oh,  thin,  but  the  kindness  of  you,  Misther  De  Lacy 
dear,"  said  the  mother — "to  remember  even  such  little 
things  as  that !  Troth,  now  I  think  more  of  it  than  even 
the  portion.  God  bless  you  !  Dear,  dear,"  repeated  the 
old  woman,  as  parcel  after  parcel  was  taken  from  the 
chaise  ;  "  here's  bottles  upon  bottles  !  " 

"A  little  wine,  Mrs.  O'More,  which  I  know  you  couldn't 
get  in  the  village,  and  his  reverence  will  like  a  good  glass, 
no  doubt." 

"  And,  oh  dear  !  the  iligant  smell  ?— why,  if  it  isn't  tay ! 
Well,  Mr.  De  Lacy,  but  you  are " 

"  That's  not  to  be  had  either  in  the  village,  you  know, 
Mrs.  O'More  ;  but  the  whiskey-punch  we  can  make  out 
here.  By  the  by,  is  there  a  public-house  that  I  can  man- 
age to  get  some  substantial  entertainment  from  ?  for  you 
must  ask  all  your  friends  to  the  wedding  feast." 

"  Oh,  but  you  are  the  darlin'  gintleman  !  Sure  we  are 
happy  enough  in  ourselves." 

"No,  no,  Mrs.  O'More  ;  the  lady  I  give  away  must  have 
her  friends  about  her,  to  wish  her  joy,  and  drink  long 
life  and  prosperity  to  her." 

"  Good  luck  to  your  kind  heart,  sir  !  Well,  we'll  manage 
it  as  you  plaze,  sir,  and  I'll  ask  what  friends  we  may  see 
at  the  chapel  to  come  to  us  ;  and  sure  they  won't  stand 
on  a  short  axin',  but  will  come  with  a  heart  and  a  half 
to  wish  the  colleen  joy." 

It  is  needless  to  detail  the  ceremony  of  the  wedding. 


RORY  O'MORE.  365 

Suffice  it  to  say  that  Rory  received  his  pretty  blushing 
Kathleen  from  the  hands  of  De  Lacy  ;  and  that,  wlien  the 
nuptial  benediction  was  pronounced  over  them,  Rory  lost 
no  time  in  getting  the  first  kiss  from  the  bride,  which  was 
a  regular  smacker.  "  Long  life  to  you,  Mrs.  O'More  !  " 
said  Rory,  laughing  in  her  crimsoned  face,  as  he  lifted  her 
from  her  knees. 

"There's  part  of  her  portion,  Rory,"  said  De  Lacy,  "for 
immediate  expenses,"  as  he  placed  in  his  hand  a  green 
silk  purse,  containing  a  hundred  guineas. 

"Long  life  to  you,  sir!  you're  too  good!"  said  Rory. 
"The  green  and  goold  is  mighty  purty  in  a  flag;*  but 
'pon  my  sowl  I  don't  know  if  it  does  not  look  quite  as  well 
in  a  man's  hand." 

The  invitations  were  made  right  and  left  at  the  chapel 
door,  and,  nothing  loath,  the  friends  invited  returned  home 
with  the  bride  and  bridegroom  to  partake  of  the  hospital- 
ity De  Lacy  had  provided  for  them  ;  and  there  was  a 
larger  company  than  the  house  would  accommodate,  but 
the  good-humored  neighbors  sat  on  the  sod  outside,  while 
the  most  responsible  people  were  honored  by  being  smoth- 
ered within. 

The  priest  and  De  Lacy,  with  the  bride  and  bridesmaid, 
sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  where  the  wine  was  circulated, 
and  plenty  of  whiskey-punch  was  to  be  had  below  the  salt. 
After  his  reverence  and  the  founder  of  the  feast  had  had 
enough,  they  vacated  the  house,  to  give  room  for  tea  being 
prepared  for  the  female  part  of  the  party,  and  repaired  to 
the  sod  outside,  where  fiddler  and  piper  were  ready  to  set 
the  boys  and  girls  together  by  the  heels. 

De  Lacy  led  out  the  bride  for  the  first  dance,  and  the 
example  was  followed  by  many  a  sporting  couple  after  ; 
and  when  some  cessation  occurred  in  the  dance,  notice 
was  given  that  "the  tay  "  was  ready  within,  while  more 
punch  was  distributed  without. 

The  tea  seemed  in  high  favor  with  the  women,  to  the 
best  of  whom  the  commonest  quality  would  have  proved 
a  luxury,  as  that  which  they  had  generally  drunk  had  been 
partly  made  from  the  same  hedges  which  supplied  them 
with  brooms  ;  so  that  the  high-flavored  exotic  which  De 
Lacy's  kindness  had  provided  was  a  marvel  among  them. 

"Dear!  dear!  Mrs.  O'More,"  said  an  old  neighbor,  who 
had  already  taken  extensive  liberties  with  the  tea-pot,  and 
who,  if  tea  could  have  produced  the  same  effects  as  spirits, 

*  The  natioual  colors. 


3^6  RORY  O'MORE. 

must  have  died  of  spontaneous  combustion  ;  "but  that  is 
the  most  beautiful  tay  !  " 

"  Sure,  my  dear,"  said  the  widow,  "and  Misther  De  Lacy 
brought  it  himself — his  own  self." 

"  Why,  does  he  dale  in  tay  ?  "  said  the  old  woman. 

"  Whish — t  !  "  said  Mrs.  O'More  with  a  frown  ;  "he's  a 
gintleman,  my  dear,  and  wouldn't  dale  in  anything." 

"  But  compliments,"  said  the  old  woman ;  "see  how  he's 
talkin'  to  Mary  over  there  ! " 

"My  dear  woman,"  said  the  widow,  confidentially,  "  this 
tay  he  brought  from  his  own  estate,  where  it  grows — and 
that's  the  rayson  it's  so  fine." 

"  Arrah  !  and  where  is  that,  Mrs.  O'More,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  In  France,"  said  the  widow  ;  "but  don't  tell  anybody." 

"  Tut !  tut !  tut  ! — sure,  I  know,  av  course,  we  mustn't 
say  a  word  about  France  now,  God  help  us  !  "  said  the  old 
woman,  raising  her  eyes  and  eyebrows,  and  pursing  her 
mouth  with  a  ludicrous  expression  of  melancholy,  "  and, 
indeed,  I'll  take  another  cup  o'  tay,  my  dear,  to  comfort 
me." 

"  To  be  sure,  agra,"  said  the  widow,  bending  the  tea-pot 
over  the  old  crone's  cup  so  far  beyond  a  rectangular  posi- 
tion that  the  lid  fell  off  and  broke  a  piece  out  of  the  tea- 
cup it  was  over — "  Pooh  !  pooh  ! — murdher  !  there's  not  a 
dhrop  o'  wather  in  the  pot  :  where's  the  kittle  ?" 

The  attendant  spirit  of  the  kettle  supplied  more  of  the 
native  element ;  and  after  a  few  minutes  to  let  it  draw,  Mrs. 
O'More  replenished  the  old  lady's  cup, 

"  I'm  feared  it's  wake  now,  ma'am,"  said  the  widow  ; 
"  bekase,  you  see,  I  let  it  s,tand  a  good  dale  at  first — for 
tay  is  nothing  without  you  let  it  stand." 

"  Right,"  said  Phelim  O'Flanagan,  who  was  in  the  neigh- 
borhood and  overheard  the  conversation — "right,  Mrs. 
O'More,  my  dear — tay  is  never  worth  a  thraneen  unless 
you  let  it  stand  ;  and  the  great  particularity,  or  peculiar 
distinctive  property,  or  denomination,  as  I  may  say,  of  tay 
is,  that  it  differs  from  all  other  human  things;  for  while 
other  human  things  grows  wake  with  standin',  tay  grows 
sthrong — ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"Ah,  go  'long  with  you,  Phelim  !  you're  always  comin' 
in  with  your  larnin'  and  your  quare  sayin's.  But,  as  I  was 
tellin'  you,  ma'am,"  pursued  the  widow  to  her  neighbor, 
"let  the  tay  stand  a  long  time  to  burst  the  grain,  for  if  you 
don't  burst  the  grain  what  good  is  it  ?  " 

"  Sartainly,"  said  her  neighbor;  "but  you  see,  if  you 


RORY  O'MORE.  367 

take  the  good  out  of  it  atwanst,  that-a-way,  there's  no  good 
in  it  afther.  And  there's  the  grate  beauty  o'  this  tay.  Oh, 
but  it's  iligant  tay  !— it  takes  such  a  beautiful  grip  0  the  sec- 
ond w  at  her  !  " 

"  A  song  !  a  song  ! "  was  echoed  round  the  room  so  loudly 
as  to  drown  the  tea  discussion  ;  and  a  universal  call  was 
made  on  the  bride  to  set  the  example  of  the  favorite  na- 
tional custom. 

Kathleen  blushed,  and  felt  somewhat  shy  at  being  the 
first  to  make  herself  an  object  of  attention,  where  already, 
from  other  causes,  she  was  sufficiently  so  ;  but,  encouraged 
by  Rory,  and  feeling  on  her  own  part  the  necessity  of  help- 
ing to  'make  her  friends  happy,  and  therefore  complying 
with  their  wishes,  she  sang,  with  exquisite  expression,  a 
little  song  in  her  own  language,  which  will  be  more  agree- 
able to  the  reader  in  English. 

"OH!  ONCE  I  HAD  LOVERS. 

"_^0h,  once  I  had  lovers  in  plenty, 

When  a  colleen  I  lived  in  the  glen  ; 
I  kill'd  fifty  before  I  was  twenty — 

How  happy  the  moments  flew  then  ! 
Then  winter  I  ne'er  could  discover, 

For  Love  brightened  Time's  dusky  wing  j 
When  every  new  month  brought  a  lover. 

The  year  then  seemed  always  like  spring. 

"  But  Cupid's  more  delicate  pinions 

Could  never  keep  up  with  old  Time ; 
So  the  gray  beard  assumes  his  dominions, 

When  the  mid-day  of  life  rings  its  chime. 
Then  gather,  while  morning  is  shining. 

Some  flower  while  the  bright  moments  last  j 
Which,  closely  around  the  heart  twining, 

Will  live  when  the  summer  is  past." 

The  song  bore  so  strong  an  allusion  to  her  own  immedi' 
ate  position,  that  it  was  peculiarly  touching  ;  and,  amid 
the  burst  of  approbation  which  followed  the  lyric,  the  si- 
lent pressure  of  Rory's  hand,  and  her  own  confiding  look 
at  her  husband,  showed  he  had  felt  all  she  wished  to  con- 
vey by  her  song. 

"That  is  a  most  beautiful  flight  of  fancy,"  said  Phelim, 
so  loud  as  to  be  heard,  "about  Cupid  and  Time  !  And 
why  shouldn't  it  be  a  flight,  when  both  o'  thim  has  wings, 
as  the  poets,  anshint  and  prophane,  tells  us  ? — for,  as  tiie 
classics  say,  tetnpus  fu^ity 


368  RORV    O'MORE. 

Mary  O'More  was  now  requested,  as  bridesmaid,  to 
favor  the  company  with  a  song  ;  and  her  mother  at  once 
asked  her  to  "sing  that  purty  song  she  was  always singin'; 
and  that,  indeed,  she  hadn't  a  purtier  song  among  thim 
all." 

"What  song,  mother? "  asked  Mary,  blushing  up  to  the 
eyes. 

"That  *  Land  o'  the  West.'  Wherever  you  got  it,  sure  it's 
a  beautiful  song." 

DeLacy,  caught  by  the  name  of  his  own  song,  of  which 
he  was  not  conscious  of  a  copy  existing  but  the  one  he 
had  rescued  from  the  papers  of  Adele  Verbigny,  fixed  his 
eyes  on  Mary  O'More,  who  was  crimsoned  over  from  her 
iorehead  to  her  shoulders,  and  had  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground. 

"Sing  it,  alanna — sing  it,"  said  her  mother. 

"  I'd  rather  sing  something  else,  ma'am." 

"Now  I'll  have  no  song  but  that,  Mary;  and,  indeed, 
there's  no  song  you  sing  aiqual  to  it." 

Thus  forced,  Mary,  after  a  few  nervous  hems,  began  in 
a  voice  which  was  tremulous  from  emotion. 

"Oh,  come  to  the  West,  love — oh  come  there  with  me ; 
'Tis  a  sweet  land  of  verdure  that  springs  from  the  sea,  j 
Where  fair  Plenty  smiles  from  her  emerald  throne — 
Oh,  come  to  the  West,  and  I'll  make  thee  my  own  ! 
I'll  guard  thee,  I'll  tend  thee,  I'll  love  thee  the  best, 
And  you'll  say  there's  no  land  like  the  land  of  the  West." 

"That's  Ireland  for  sartain  !"  said  Phelim.  Mary  con- 
tinued : 

"  The  South  has  its  roses  and  bright  skies  of  blue, 
But  ours  are  more  sweet  with  love's  own  changeful  hue — 
Half  sunshine,  half  tears,  like  the  girl  I  love  best ; 
Oh  !  what  is  the  South  to  the  beautiful  West ! 
Then  come  to  the  West,  and  the  rose  on  thy  mouth 
Will  be  sweeter  to  me  than  the  flow'rs  of  the  South  ! " 

There  were  several  audible  smacks  at  the  conclusion  of 
this  verse,  and  numerous  suppressed  exclamations  of  "  Be" 
have  yourself ! "  were  heard  in  coquettish  female  voices. 

The  song  went  on. 

"  The  North  has  its  snow  tow'rs  of  dazzling  array, 
All  sparkling  with  gems  in  the  ne'er-setting  day  ; 
There  the  storm-king  may  dwell  in  the  halls  he  loves  best. 
But  the  soft-breathing  zephyr  he  plays  in  the  West. 
Then  come  there  with  me,  wliere  no  cold  wind  doth  blow, 
And  thy  neck  will  seem  iairei'  to  me  than  the  snow  !  " 


RORY  0'MOk£.  369 

De  Lacy  could  not  resist  admiring  the  beautiful  and 
snowy  bosom  of  the  singer,  which  heaved  with  agitation 
as  she  sang. 

Phelim,  before  she  could  resume,  thundered  in  his  an- 
notation :  "  That's  a  fine  touch  about  the  winds — Boreas, 
Aust  ter,  Vosther,  Eurus  et  Zephyrus!" 

Again  Mary  plucked  up  courage,  and  finished. 

"The  sun  in  the  gorgeous  East  chaseth  the  night 
When  he  riseth,  refreshed,  in  his  glory  and  might  ! 
But  where  doth  he  go  when  he  seeks  his  sweet  rest  ? 
Oh,  doth  he  not  haste  to  the  beautiful  West ! " 

"  Pars  Occidentalis  !  "  shouted  Phelim. 

"Then  come  there  with  me  ;  'tis  the  land  I  love  best, 
'Tis  the  land  of  my  sires  ! — 'tis  my  own  darling  West ! " 

"  Owld  Ireland  forever ! — hurroo  !  "  was  shouted  from 
all,  and  a  thunder  of  applause  followed. 

When  the  song  was  over,  De  Lacy  could  not  resist  the 
curiosity  which  prompted  him  to  know  how  Mary  O'More 
had  become  possessed  of  the  song  ;  and  he  approached  the 
girl  and  asked  her. 

"  It  was  written  on  a  bit  of  paper,  sir,  and  between  the 
leaves  of  one  of  the  books  you  gave  me." 

"  But  there  was  no  music  to  it.  How  did  you  get 
that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sometimes  I  go  about  singing,  sir,  whatever  comes 
into  my  head;  and  so  I  made  a  tune  of  it." 

"And  a  beautiful. tune  it  is  I  "  said  De  Lacy. 

Here  the  voice  of  the  priest  broke  in  and  interrupted 
further  conversation. 

"My  good  people,"  said  the  priest,  "it  is  time  now  to 
go  home.  You  know  the  martial  law  is  out— and  you 
mustn't  be  out  when  //laf  law  is  out." 

"  Thrue  for  your  reverence,  faith,"  was  responded  by 
some  of  the  responsible  old  men, 

"  So,  boys  and  girls — and,  indeed,  my  good  people  of  all 
denominations — go  your  way  home  in  time,  and  keep  out 
of  harm's  way — it  is  not  like  the  good  old  times,  when  we 
could  stop  till  the  night  was  ripe,  and  we  could  throw  the 
stocking,  and  do  the  thing  dacently,  as  our  fathers  used  to 
do  before  us;  but  we  must  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bar- 
gain, and  go  home  before  the  sun  is  down.  So  let  us  lave 
24 


370  KORY  O'MORE. 

the  hospitable  roof  where  we  have  got  the  bit  and  sup,  and 
ccad  mille  fealthe,  and  wishing  the  young  couple  health  and 
happiness,  leave  them  with  tlieir  mother." 

A  universal  leave-taking  now  commenced,  and  heart- 
felt good  wishes  were  poured  upon  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom, accompanied  with  a  profusion  of  hand-shaking, 
and  a  sprinkling  of  small  jokes  from  the  frisky  old  men 
and  women,  which  were  laughed  at  by  the  young  ones  ; 
and  laughing  and  singing  they  went  their  different  ways 
— the  mirth  radiating,  as  it  were,  from  the  focus  where  it 
had  its  birth,  and,  like  circles  on  a  lake,  becoming  weaker 
as  it  grew  wider,  till  the  sounds  of  merriment  died  away 
in  the  distance,  and  the  cabin,  so  noisy  a  few  minutes  be- 
fore, became  silent.  De  Lacy  was  the  last  to  take  his 
leave  ;  he  offered  his  best  wishes  for  the  happiness  of 
those  whose  happiness  was,  in  fact,  of  his  making,  and 
was  followed,  as  he  left  the  family  group,  by  their  thanks 
and  blessings. 


CHAPTER   XLVII. 


De  Lacy  Muses  like  a  Gentleman,  but  Feels  like  a  Man  ;  and  the  Reader 
is  told  all  the  Author  can  tell  Him,  and  is  left  to  Guess  the  Rest, 

Silently  and  thoughtfully  he  wended  his  way  to  the  lit- 
tle public-house  where  he  was  to  be  accommodated  for 
the  night,  the  "  Land  of  the  West  "  still  ringing  in  his  ears 
— that  song  which  he  had  written  for  the  accomplished 
girl  who  had  deceived  him,  and  valued  not  by  her — treas- 
ured up  and  sung  by  a  simple  peasant  girl,  who  more  and 
more,  he  perceived,  had  become  attached  to  him — in  short, 
loved  him — there  was  no  weaker  term  applicable;  and  that 
girl,  beautiful,  sensitive,  pure-minded,  modest,  and  deli- 
cate in  feeling  as  a  lady.  Ay,  there  was  the  point — a  lady 
■ — ^Hf  she  were  a  lady."  This  question  arose  silently  in  De 
Lacy's  mind,  and  his  answer  to  it  was  a  sigh.  "  No,  no," 
thought  he,  "it  cannot  be! — those  mesalliances  are  terrible 
things  !  Could  I,  from  my  name  and  station,  descend  to 
wed  a  country  girl  ?  No  ;  the  world  would  laugh  at  me, 
and  sneer  at  me — ''So  Horace  De  Lacy  picked  up  7vith  a  coun- 
try wench!  '  would  sound  well  in  the  mouths  of  those  who 
know  me.     No,  no,  it  must  not  be  ! 

"  And  yet  there's  no  denying  I  like  the  girl — like  her 
well  enough  even  to  marry  her — ay,  and  if  she  were  but  a 


RORY  O'MORR.  3^1 

lady,  a  better  wife,  and  truer  and  fonder  companion  would 
she  be  than  the  fribble  Frenchwoman  who  jilted  me  ;  and 
there  is  more  truth  and  simple  faith  and  real  affection  in 
that  poor  girl's  heart  than  in  many  a  courtly  dame  whose 
quarterings  could  match  my  own.  And  why  should  I  be 
less  liberal  in  those  matters  than  in  questions  of  equal  im- 
portance ?  Should  I,  a  democrat,  be  the  stickler  for  high 
birth  in  a  wife  ?  What  fools  we  are,  after  all,  in  such  mat- 
ters !  The  slavery  of  custom  is  upon  us,  do  what  we  can 
to  shake  it  off,  and  the  sneer  of  a  fool  is  too  much  in  per- 
spective for  the  firmness  of  the  Avisest  man.  Poor  Mary  ! 
— poor  girl — I  wish  the  devil  had  me  before  I  ever  came 
in  her  way  !  And  that  song,  too — how  deliciously  she  sang 
it ! — sweet  enough  to  charm  a  drawing-room — if  she  were  a 
gentletvofnan.  Confound  that  eternal  question  —  how  it 
plagues  me  !  And,  after  all,  why  should  she  not  be  a  gen- 
tlewoman ?  Suppose,  for  an  instant,  she  were  my  wife, 
Madame  De  Lacy  would  be  raised  to  my  rank,  and,  in  truth, 
she  is  naturally  well-bred — with  the  fatois  of  her  country, 
and  wanting  the  inaniere  d'etre  of  a  fashionable  belle,  'tis 
true  ;  but  I  never  heard  the  girl  say,  or  saw  her  do,  what 
could  be  called  a  rude  or  vulgar  thing  ;  slight  care  would 
give  her  manner,  and  her  own  good  sense  would  keep  her 
quiet  till  she  acquired  it. 

"  What  folly  this  is !  Here  I  am  supposing  a  case 
which  can  never  be  ;  all  my  prejudices  rise  in  arms  against 
it — I  dare  not  do  it!  What  should  I  feel,  on  entering  a 
drawing-room,  to  see  the  searching  eye  and  hear  the 
whisper  running  round  the  room,  as  I  presented  my 
'country  wench?'  No!  no!  no! — Horace,  that  would 
never  do  ! 

"  Yet  how  unjust  is  all  this  on  my  part  !  Here  am  I 
supposing  this  drawing-room  case,  and  I  am  quitting 
Europe,  and  all  who  know  me,  forever  !  I  am  going  to 
the  backwoods  of  America — who  will  know  there  that 
Mary  O'More  is  not  a  gentlewoman  born,  or  that  Horace 
De  Lacy  is  the  descendant  of  a  Norman  line  ?  And  when 
once  there,  could  I  repose  my  faith  on  a  purer  spirit,  my 
heart  on  a  truer  affection,  or  my  head  on  a  fairer  bosom  ? 
Could  I  desire  a  more  lovely  or  lovable  woman  for  my 
wife  ? — my  common-sense  and  common  manhood  answer 
No  !  and  yet  does  the  prejudice  of  De  Lacy  rebel  against 
the  thought.  Mary  O'More,  I  wish  to  Heaven  you  were 
of  higher  birth  !  " 

Such  was  the  working  of  De  Lacy's  brain  all  through 


372  JiOHY  O'MORE. 

the  evening  until  he  retired  to  bed.  Even  then  dreams 
usurped  the  place  of  sleep.  He  imagined  himself,  with 
his  country  wife  on  his  arm,  in  a  drawing-room  ;  a  row  of 
perfumed  puppies  lined  the  walls  and  occupied  the  fau- 
teuils  as  he  entered  ;  glances  of  disdain  were  cast  toward 
Mary's  foot  (which  was  a  very  pretty  foot,  by  the  way) ;  he 
looked  down,  and  instead  of  a  satin  shoe  a  country  brogue 
was  peeping  from  beneath  her  velvet  robe  !  He  was  in  \ 
fever  ;  the  lady  of  the  mansion  approached — she  addressed, 
in  accents  of  fashionable  ease,  Madame  De  Lacy,  who  an. 
swered  in  a  very  rich  brogue  ;  a  titter  ran  round  the  circle., 
— De  Lacy  started  and  awoke. 

When  he  next  dropt  into  dozing,  the  wide-spreadin^^ 
forest  of  America  was  before  him  ;  there  was  its  girdle  of 
splendid  color  circling  the  clearance  which  his  own  hand 
had  helped  to  make,  and  where  the  thriving  crops  of  dif- 
ferent sorts  were  growing  ;  the  sunset  was  tingeing  all 
around  with  its  golden  light,  and  he  thought  Mary  was  his 
wife,  and  with  her  arms  circling  his  neck,  she  was  looking 
up  into  his  eyes  with  glowing  affection,  and  saying  :  "  Are 
we  not  happy  ?"  He  clasped  her  to  his  breast  and  kissed 
her,  and  said  :  "  Yes,  happier  here  than  in  our  native  land  !  " 

"  But  still  its  remembrance  is  very  dear,  Horace  ;"  and  a 
tinge  of  sweet  tenderness  came  over  her  face. 

"  So  it  is,  dearest,"  answered  De  Lacy  ;  "  sit  down  under 
the  shade  of  this  tree  and  sing  me  'The  Land  of  the 
West.'  " 

And  in  his  dreams  he  thought  sounds  never  were  so 
beautiful,  never  so  sweet,  as  that  song  of  his  own  sung  by 
the  woman  he  loved. 

De  Lacy  awoke  unrefreshed  and  weary.  There  is  noth- 
ing so  fatiguing  as  an  unsatisfied  action  of  the  mind,  which 
we  cannot  repress  nor  escape  from.  De  Lacy  knew  that 
business  was  the  surest  relief  from  such  annoyance,  and  he 
started  at  an  early  hour  for  Cork  to  finish  his  arrangement 
for  sailing,  and  wrote  to  Rory,  desiring  him  and  his  family 
to  follow,  appointing  time  and  place  for  their  rendezvous, 
A  few  days  sufficed  to  bring  them  together  again,  and  an 
immediate  embarkation  took  place,  for  the  wind  was  fair 
and  the  weather  favorable. 

Old  Phelim  O'Flanagan  accompanied  the  O'Mores  to 
the  ship  ;  and  De  Lacy,  touched  by  this  proof  of  attachment, 
offered  to  take  him  with  them. 

"  Thanks  to  you  in  bushels,  and  mav  blessinc-s  in  pail- 
fuls  be  powered  upon  you  i     I'll  stay  in  the  owid  place. 


RORY   O'MORE.  373 

We  mustn't  transplant  owld  sticks,  though  the  saplin's  may 
thrive  the  betther  of  it.  But  I'm  obleeged  to  you  all  the 
same  ;  I  could  be  of  no  use  in  a  new  place." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Phelim  ;  I'll  find  use  for  you  if  you'll 
come.  Your  learning,  Phelim,  would  make  you  an  acqui- 
sition in  a  new  place — it  is  there  you  would  be  particularly 
useful." 

"  Proud  am  I  of  your  opinion,  Misther  De  Lacy,"  said 
Phelim,  immensely  pleased  at  this  compliment  to  his  learn- 
ing— "  proud  am  I,  and  plazed  ;  but  thin,  if  you  talk  of  a 
new  counthry,  sure  I  must  think  of  X\\QoiuId  one  ;  and  what 
would  the  counthry  here  do  without  me  ?  " 

"  That's  a  difficulty,  certainly,"  answered  De  Lacy,  smil- 
ing ;  "but  you  shouldn't  sacrifice  your  own  interest  too 
much  to  your  patriotism.  Come  with  me,  and  I'll  be  your 
friend  as  long  as  you  live,  Phelim." 

"  Oh  \  proh  pudor  !  and  it's  ashamed  I  am  not  to  be  more 
worthy  of  your  honor's  frindship  ;  and,  indeed,  a  good 
frind  and  a  thrue  frind  you  are  ;  or,  as  the  Latins  say,  ami- 
cus certus ;  but,  all  the  same,  I'll  lave  my  bones  in  owld 
Ireland,  and  when  I'm  gone,  may  be  I'll  go  see  you — that 
is,  if  sper'ts  is  permitted  to  crass  the  say." 

"God  keep  us,  Phelim!"  said  Mrs.  O'More  ;  "don't 
hant  us,  if  you  plaze." 

De  Lacy,  when  he  could  recover  himself  sufficiently  from 
the  laughter  which  Phelim's  speech  produced,  said,  "  Rum 
and  brandy  were  the  only  spirits  he  ever  heard  of  crossing 
the  sea." 

"Ay — ardent  sper'ts,"  replied  Phelim.  "  Throth,  thin, 
my  sper't  is  as  ardent    as  ever  it  was  ;  and,  at  all  events, 

wishes  you  happiness  and  prosperity  ;  and "     Here  the 

old  man's  eyes  began  to  glisten  with  tears,  and  his  voice 
failed  him.  His  thin  lips  essayed  to  utter  a  few  words,  and 
trembled  with  the  pang  of  saying  "  Farewell  ; "  but  the 
word  remained  unuttered,  and  a  tremulous  pressure  of 
each  hand  of  the  friends  he  was  parting  from  was  the  last 
signal  of  affection  which  passed  between  them. 

The  decks  were  now  cleared  of  all  save  the  sailors  and 
passengers  ;  the  boats  of  the  attendant  friends  pushed  off  ; 
and  it  was  not  until  old  Phelim  was  seated  in  the  skiff 
which  bore  him  to  the  shore  that  he  felt  something  in  his 
hand,  which  he  opened  to  look  at  ;  it  was  a  purse  with  sev- 
eral gold  pieces  in  it.  He  remembered  De  Lacy  had  been 
the  last  to  shake  hands  with  him.  *'  God  bless  him  !  he  did 
not  forget  even  the  poor  owld  man  he  was  leaving  behind  !  " 


374  HORY  O'MORR. 

and  the  "poor  old  man  "  dropped  his  head  upon  his  knees 
and  cried  bitterly. 

The  sails  were  shaken  out,  and,  swelling  to  the  breeze, 
bore  the  vessel  from  the  lovely  harbor  of  Cove.  The  ship 
was  soon  cleaving  the  waters  of  the  Atlantic,  and  the  tear- 
ful eyes  of  many  an  emigrant  were  turned  toward  the  shore 
they  should  never  see  again. 

In  one  close  group  stood  Rory  and  those  who  were  dear 
to  him.  De  Lacy  was  not  of  their  party,  but  paced  up  and 
down  the  deck  alone,  and  he  felt  a  keener  pang  at  quitting 
his  country  than  he  could  have  imagined  ;  and  as  her  cliffs 
were  lessening  to  his  view,  the  more  they  became  endeared 
to  his  imagination  ;  and  associations  to  which  he  did  not 
think  his  heart  was  open  asserted  their  influence  over  the 
exile.  In  an  hour  the  deck  was  clearer  ;  many  had  gone 
below,  for  the  evening  was  closing  fast ;  but  still  Rory  and 
his  group  stood  in  the  same  spot,  and  looked  toward  the 
land  ;  and  still  De  Lacy  paced  the  deck  alone,  and  felt 
most  solitary. 

The  wide  ocean  was  before  him,  and  the  free  wind  sweep- 
ing him  from  all  he  had  known,  to  the  land  where  he  knew 
none.  He  was  a  stranger  on  the  sea  ;  he  was  lonely,  and 
he  felt  his  loneliness.  He  looked  at  Rory  O'More,  the 
centre  of  a  group  whom  he  loved,  and  who  loved  him,  and 
he  envied  the  resignation  which  sat  on  the  faces  of  Kath- 
leen and  Mary  as  they  looked  toward  their  lost  country, 
while  their  arms  were  entwined  round  the  husband  and 
brother.  He  approached  them,  for  his  solitude  became 
painful,  and  he  spoke. 

"  We  shall  soon  see  the  last  of  old  Ireland,  Rory." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Rory,  in  a  tone  implying  tender 
regret. 

"  But  you  have  all  those  with  you,  who  are  dear  to  you, 
and  the  parting  is  less  sad." 

"  Thank  God,  I  have,"  said  Rory  fervently. 

"  And  you,  Mary,  are  a  brave  and  sensible  girl.  I'm 
glad  to  see  you  have  dried  your  tears." 

"  The  heart  may  be  sad,  sir,  without  the  eye  being  wet." 

The  words  entered  De  Lacy's  very  soul  ;  and  as  he 
looked  at  the  sweet  face  of  the  girl,  whose  beauty  became 
the  more  touching  from  the  tinge  of  gentle  sadness  upon 
it,  he  thought  how  many  as  lovely  a  cheek  had  withered 
under  the  blight  of  silent  grief. 

"  How  faint  the  shore  is  looking  now,  sir  !  "  said  Mary. 

"  Yes,  Mary  ;"  and  De  Lacy  approached  her  more  nearly 


RORY   O'MORE.  375 

as  he  spoke.  After  a  few  minutes'  silence  while  they  still 
kept  their  looks  upon  the  rapidly  sinking  cliffs,  De  Lacy 
asked  Mary  if  she  thought  it  would  not  be  too  much  for 
her  feelings — would  she  oblige  him  by 

"  What,  sir  ?  "  said  Mary  timidly. 

"Will  you  sing  me  *  The  Land  of  the  West ! '  It  is  the 
last  time  any  of  us  shall  ever  hear  it  in  sight  of  its  shores." 

A  blush  suffused  Mary's  cheek  and  a  slight  quiver  passed 
across  her  lip  at  the  request. 

"  Perhaps  'tis  too  much  for  you,  Mary  ;  if  so,  do  not  sing  ; 
but  I  own  I  am  weak  at  this  moment.  I  did  not  know  how 
much  I  loved  poor  Ireland." 

"  I'll  sing  it  for  you,  sir  ;  and  sure  I  would  sing  the  song 
for  the  dear  country  itself — the  dear  country  !  and  though 
I  may  cry,  may  be  'twill  be  a  pleasure  to  my  heart." 

Summoning  all  her  resolution,  she  essayed  to  sing  ;  and 
after  the  first  few  words,  which  were  faltered  in  a  tremu- 
lous tone,  her  voice  became  firmer,  and  the  enthusiasm 
which  love  of  country  supplied  supporting  her  through  the 
effort,  she  gave  an  expression  to  the  song  intensely  touch- 
ing. As  she  was  concluding  the  final  stanza  the  last  beams 
of  sunset,  splendidly  bright,  burst  through  the  purple  clouds 
of  the  horizon,  and  slied  a  golden  glow  on  "  the  Land  of 
the  West,"  as  the  inspired  singer  apostrophized  it.  De 
Lacy  looked  upon  her,  and  thought  of  his  dream  ;  it  was 
the  sunset  and  the  song,  and  the  same  lovely  face  which 
beamed  through  his  vision  ;  and  when  the  touching  voice 
of  the  girl  sank  in  its  final  cadence  into  silence,  she  could 
support  her  emotion  no  longer — she  burst  into  tears,  and 
held  out  her  clasped  hands  toward  the  scarcely  visible  shore. 

De  Lacy  put  his  arm  gently  round  her  waist,  and  the 
unresisting  girl  wept  as  he  supported  her.  "  Don't  weep, 
Mary,  don't  weep,"  whispered  De  Lacy  in  a  gentler  tone 
than  she  had  ever  heard  him  speak  before  ;  "  we  shall  see 
many  a  lovely  sunset  together  in  the  woods  of  America, 
and  you  shall  often  sing  me  there  *  The  Land  of  the  West.'  " 


THE    END. 


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